Follow the Light
by MBurris
Summary: A slip of the tongue reveals to Harry an alternative path, one much more demanding than he experienced before, where the rewards he asks for are denied him...
1. Missteps

_A slip of the tongue reveals to Harry an alternative path, one much more demanding than he experienced before, where the rewards he asks for are denied him..._

 **Disclaimer**

All chapters of this entire story are covered by this disclaimer: if you recognize it, it's not mine – probably owned by Rowling, when you get right down to it. Although I doubt that copyright law revolves on the mental capacity of individual readers.

 **Background**

This story begins at the start of Harry's fifth year. Unlike in canon, Harry's emotions are not reset at the beginning of a book, and so he is still dealing with the aftermath of the Tri-Wizard Tournament when the Dementors attack. And then there's a trial in which he feels abused and abandoned …

 **Notes**

Blackstorm of Thunderclan served as a beta reader for the first half of this story, and I'm quite grateful for his assistance in tying down plot threads. If there are any grammatical twists that disturb you, or typos that grate, please PM me, as they are my fault, not his. And the plot is all mine, too, so don't bother him about issues with that, either.

 **Questions**

These are the questions/musings that led to the writing of this fic:

We all look at the cumulative actions of Albus Dumbledore and know that he is not Good. So what would a _true_ Leader of the Light look like?

If there are dementors … why aren't there creatures on the other side of the continuum? What would that creature look like?

If we accept that there is a God in the HP universe, what is the relationship between God and magic? Why doesn't the Wizarding world have a recognized religion? They swear by Merlin rather than Deity – why?

There are so many curses; what does the use of magic used to bless look like?

And not quite related: why can't Rowling use a calendar when plotting her stories?

-o-

I tried to create a mythology and creation story for the Wizarding world that melds what we see in canon with what our intuitions tell us about righteousness and goodness. Well, **my** intuition at any rate. I am not endorsing or proselyting for any theology – this is strictly made up. Well, I actually stole a lot, filed off the serial numbers, mashed it together, slapped a new coat of paint on it, and presented the hodge-podge as something _strictly for story utility_.

I hope that it's also entertaining.

 **Chapter 1: Missteps**

 **Friday, September 1, 1995 – The Hogwarts Express**

The warning whistle sounded from the engine of the Hogwarts Express, and the train pulled away from the odd fractionally-named platform. Students were renewing friendships, pursuing their objects of romance, or frantically addressing themselves to the summer homework they had successfully ignored for the past ten weeks. Mostly the latter.

Harry Potter was doing none of those things.

Cedric Diggory had been dead for … _75 days and about 18 hours. Almost 76 days._ Harry could still see Cedric's sightless gaze in the graveyard. Eyes open, eyes closed, Harry could see little else that summer.

The dementors Harry encountered that summer wouldn't have stood a chance if they were vulnerable to morose fatalism. Harry had been generating that in abundance. The show trial that Harry had been subjected to had changed his emotional state in a hurry, however; between that power-mad pink fatso trying to get Harry expelled and Dumbledore's complete lack of support, Harry had switched from depressed apathy to roiling rage.

Albus Bloody Dumbledore … at the end of each year he had sat with Harry, explained what he could, gentled Harry's frustration and impatience and fear by offering himself as the wise director of Harry's life, only to abandon Harry at the time when he was most needed. _Sod that. If the bloomin' Headmaster wants to play games this year, he can bloody do it himself. He can get what he deserves._

And now, Harry was unable to get a decent night's sleep. At least every third night was interrupted with Snake-face's presence in his head, Harry's scar radiating pain, while Harry got to see through that bastard's eyes and hear through that bastard's ears. The lack of rest was contributing towards Harry's mood, and not in any way that was positive.

Ron and Ginny entered the compartment. "Hey, Harry, finally found ya. I gotta go to the prefect's meeting with Hermione. Later!" Ron had lofted his trunk into the overhead racks during his brief speech, and was out the door before the trunk was fully settled. Ginny followed suit (with a bit more effort), but dropped into the seat across from Harry when she was finished.

"What's going on?" Ginny asked. She seemed to be assuming that Harry was willing to talk. They had talked – or rather, Ginny had refused to shut up – while Harry was at the Burrow after that farce of a trial they put him through.

Harry responded as he had the week before; shortly, with minimal words. "Nothing," he said, flatly. He turned his head to the window and closed his eyes. Ginny seemed to respect his desire for silence – she didn't attempt to make small talk, at least – but that went by the wayside when Ron and Hermione returned from their meeting.

Ron loudly had Ginny switch over and sit by Harry, so he and Hermione could sit together on the seats opposite. He loudly voiced his opinion of the prefects (mostly negative), his hopes for the coming Hogwarts quidditch season (an undefeated sweep), and his hopes for the Cannons this coming season (even though the last several decades were unalloyed failure.) Harry could also tell, without opening his eyes, that Ron had hopes for romance with Hermione – his voice went from brash, loud optimism to tentative questioning whenever he directed a question to the girl. Harry wanted to shake his head in disgust, but didn't want to reveal that he was awake.

Hermione did her best to add to the noise pollution, too. Inquiring / ordering both Ron and Ginny to produce their homework, fretting over study schedules for O.W.L.s, arguing with Ron over prefect duties, and just, well, arguing with Ron. She did that a lot. Harry had a sneaking suspicion that _she_ had a sneaking suspicion that he was awake – she didn't hit the top of her range during the continuous argument, but she came close. Hermione was usually more considerate than that. Or Ron was being more irritating than before; it really was a tossup.

Ginny, too, got into the whine-fest. Her contribution was a monologue about her hopes for Hogsmeade weekends, where Harry would take her (and apparently only Harry caught that she meant it in both fashions), and Harry _might_ have caught her musing about the names for their children under her breath. _Daft bint_. As if Harry would spend time or money or attention on romancing his … _mother_. Inwardly he shook his head. Everyone was forever telling him that Ginny was the spitting image of his mother – and for some reason, she seemed to take that as a sign that they _should_ be together. Harry rather felt the opposite.

The monologues disguised as arguments raged on as the Express raced toward Hogsmeade. Ron hoped; Hermione fretted; Ginny dreamed.

And in the corner, faced pressed outwards to the windows glass, Harry _seethed_.

-o-

At the Welcoming feast, there was a … rude disappointment. _That squat little old biddy from the trial is here at Hogwarts._ Harry just knew that this was _not good_ , and he wondered just how bad this year was going to be. That condescending, self-righteous, political _toad_ was going to be in charge of DADA this year, and it was fairly self-evident that there was going to be some seriously heavy political firepower aiming for Harry this year. _After all, she wanted to expel me and snap my wand for no reason before; I can't see her letting that go, or thinking I'm all sweetness and light all of a sudden_.

Harry let Hermione and Ron go do their prefect thing, still keeping his thoughts to himself. The dorms were just as he had left them in June, so Harry climbed into his bed, drew the curtains, and tried to sleep. He hadn't spoken at all to any of his year mates, and he fully intended to keep the status quo as long as possible. He drifted off to an unrestful slumber, and just before he lost consciousness, Harry realized, _Hey, I can write to Sirius now!_ There were a scant few days spent at the house on Grimmauld Place, but Harry hadn't been able to truly talk with his Godfather – and there was nothing stopping him now.

It was before the classes had even started, so Harry was flush with parchment. He jumped out of bed and began, _Hey, Sirius_ , and then poured all his frustrations into the letter: Durselys, hunger, abandonment, dementors, betrayal, abandonment again, and the constant terror of watching the evil of Voldemort claim more and more innocent lives. It wasn't pretty, and it wasn't lyrical, but … it felt good to know that help was, finally, on its way. Harry had a Godfather now, and he wasn't alone against the world. He had Marauder backup!

Slipping on his robe and shoes, Harry ran out of the dorms, headed to the Owlry. As he entered the cavernous space, Hedwig was already taking wing to meet him, greeting Harry with a soft bark. Harry allowed Hedwig to perch on his arm, and brought her up so that he could rest his head against hers. "This is for Sirius, and he should be at …" The words caught in his throat. _Oh right – Fidelious_. "You know where he is. You can find anyone, can't you girl?"

Hedwig barked again, this time more stridently, and Harry gave her a fond look. One fastened letter later, and Hedwig was flying free, looking very regal as she flew into the evening shadows.

 _Hedwig's on it. I'll be okay._

-o-

 **Sunday, September 3, 1995**

Harry was through. No more. The letter from Sirius had been a masterpiece of weaselly evasions of responsibility.

Harry had asked questions about what he had witnessed during his brief stay at Grimmauld Place: why do you let Molly Weasley give you orders in your own home? What authority does she have? Do you have to have Peter Pettigrew in hand before clearing your name with the Ministry? Why do I have to stay with the Dursley's?

Sirius's return letter expressed childlike confusion about most questions, and then offered the justification that Harry was least inclined to accept: _Dumbledore says that …_

Harry immediately wadded up the parchment, tossed it in the air, and vaporized it with a nicely-aimed _"Incendio!"_

Harry's reply:

 _I wanted someone that I know would care for me and look out for me. You are too damaged – probably by Azkaban, but your basic personality hasn't helped – to be that person I need. I need you to stay as my guardian, because I don't trust Dumbledore and I can't let him have more power over me …_

Hedwig had arrived and was looking curiously at Harry as he sighed, waded up his letter, and sent it to join the parchment that Sirius had sent.

 _I don't trust them. Any of them. So telling them that would be tipping my hand in a fight that I can't afford to lose._ Harry sighed again _. They control my life and none of them care about my happiness. I'm the only one that does._

Hedwig nipped Harry's ear and departed with a mournful bark. Harry's dark mood blackened further.

 _Screw him._ Then Harry reconsidered _. Screw_ _ **them**_ _. Screw them all._

That night, Harry's dreams returned to the summer pattern of a nightly movie starring the atrocities that Voldemort might be up to. While it took Harry many hours to calm down after waking, he was able to dismiss them during the day.

And it wasn't as if Harry was used to doing without sleep.

-o-

 **Monday, September 4, 1995**

It had not been a good night – and the day hadn't helped any. Ron was lazy, Ginny was stalking him worse than Colin ever had, Hermione somehow thought that she was empowered to direct his life for him, and then DADA … for some reason, Harry's schedule this year had classes piled up Monday through Wednesday, with a lone class of Potions on Thursday morning. His first day, he had to start off with a double History, then double Potions before lunch, then Divination, then double DADA. His brain was, frankly, fried, and after his reintroduction to Snape's abuse, his temper was shot, and that was _before_ this insipid and condescending toad decided that she could treat them all like toddlers. The room was decorated in a bright pink that made him want to shudder; he saw the poorly illustrated plates hanging on the walls with pictures of cats, and gave in to the impulse. Several classmates followed suit.

"Good afternoon, class!" The false sweetness was cloying, and insulting. No, even toddlers had more self-respect than to fall for this.

Nobody responded.

"Tut, tut!" _Did she really just say 'tut'?_ "Now, class, mind your manners. When greeted, you must respond pleasantly and promptly! Now, let's try again!" The glitter in Umbridge's eye was … rather nasty. "Good afternoon, class!"

Enough of the students murmured, "Good afternoon," that the patronizing speech was not repeated.

"Now, this is your OWL year, so it is very important that you …"

Harry had had enough and jumped in, "Yeah, about that."

"You are interrupting, _student_."

The momentary expression of murderous rage wasn't missed by very many students, and it changed what Harry was about to say; he stepped it up. "You may have been told; our previous instructors haven't done a very good job, so we're kind of wondering if you can actually, you know, teach. Some of us wouldn't be surprised if we had a squib teaching this class." Harry artfully paused and gave himself an expression of doubt. "You _do_ have a wand, right?"

The rotund lady drew herself up, affronted. "I have been appointed by the Ministry of Magic to oversee your education! I am fully qualified, I assure you!"

Harry shook his head sorrowfully. "I'm afraid that just won't cut it – we've had teachers that lied to us before. Show us your wand, please." His eyes narrowed. "Or don't you have one?"

"Of course I have a wand!" she hissed.

Harry looked at her doubtfully, "And yet you can't show it to us when asked." His face cleared. "You have a wand, yet can't show it to us." Harry's tone lowered as if he was speaking confidentially. "You were going to teach a magical class on Defense – the most practically oriented of all the magical subjects – without actually carrying your wand?"

Umbridge's face went from red to purple. "It is at my DESK!" she roared.

Harry stood and stepped into the space between desks. "You are teaching a wand subject and leave your wand at your desk? That's … very convenient, isn't it? You can't show off your squibness that way, can you?"

"DETENTION!"

"Still haven't seen any magic." Harry observed. Well, and challenged.

Umbridge's expression became even uglier – clearly desiring Harry's immediate death. The lack of humanity in her face gave Harry an idea.

He drew his wand and in the same motion softly incanted, " _Expecto Patronum_!" The ghostly form of a gigantic stag, fully seven feet tall at the head, flashed into existence in the classroom and charged the DADA teacher, antlers lowered. Her rage immediately was replaced by fear and terror as she clumsily dived to avoid the charge of the Patronus.

Harry spoke above the titters of the class, "And that, boys and girls, is how you drive off soul-sucking, depressing … _creatures_."

Class was a total loss, but even with detention that night, Harry felt like it was a win.

The first win he'd had in months. Even if that last word _had_ cost him 100 house points. _Still a win_.

-o-

Harry picked the quill up; the iron tip made it much heavier than his regular school nibs and the balance was off. Umbridge's eyes lit up in anticipation as she waited for Harry to begin his lines. Harry paused, considered the quill, then put it to parchment.

The tip scratched and sputtered over the uneven surface, spreading a thin film of dark, red … ink? Harry looked to the back of his left hand, which was feeling scratched and irritated. His eyes widened.

"You can't do this! This is … making me write with my own blood … it's torture!"

Umbridge's eyes were alight with joy as well as something dark and malevolent. "I assure you, Mr. Potter. As the Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic, it is well within my power to do this – _and more_ – to those that defy the Ministry," she said evenly. Her voice was still honeyed on the surface, but the undertone had notes of triumph and vengeance. Nothing sweet.

Harry stood. "I won't!"

"You will, _boy_! You will do as I say!" Umbridge couldn't have calculated a worse thing to say to Harry Potter.

Harry grew livid. For the first time, his rage poured through him, without any of the usual fear or subservience that Vernon had planted in him. He grabbed the quill off the desk, the feather between his thumb and forefinger. "Any more of this, and I swear by all that's holy that you will _beg_ God above for death before I'm done with you!" And he threw the quill (completely missing her, but nicking a ceramic plate hung on the wall.)

Umbridge's normally florid face became pale, then stark white. Her eyes bulged, and her mouth moved silently – shock, apparently. With eyes that never left his face, she hastily backed out of the classroom, the door closing between them. Even after she left, the peculiar pressure that began with Harry's words did not dissipate.

Harry looked around the deserted office. _There is way too much pink in here_. He tentatively reached for his wand on the corner of her desk – he wouldn't put it past the vindictive professor to put some sort of spell on it – but nothing happened when he gingerly picked it up. Snagging his book bag on his way out the door, Harry made his way back to the Gryffindor common room. An unfamiliar magic pressure continued to follow him, swirling in his wake, slowly ebbing.

The portraits, unnoticed, fell silent at his passing, giving each other significant glances.


	2. Reciprocity

**Chapter 2: Reciprocity**

 **Wednesday, September 13, 1995**

The next morning, an announcement was made over breakfast.

"All Defense Against the Dark Arts classes have been cancelled until further notice. First through fourth years, meet for study at your regular times; the classroom will be in the second floor north corridor across from the suits of armor. Fifth through seventh years, you may pursue your self-study on your own schedules. Thank you."

As the hubbub of normal breakfast chatter resumed, Harry was startled by the sudden appearance of Prof. McGonagall at his table. "Mr. Potter, you are required to see Headmaster Dumbledore immediately after breakfast this morning, so you have …" she consulted a broach watch on her lapel, "… thirteen minutes. Do not be late to either the Headmaster's office or your Charms class immediately after." She turned her attention to misbehaving students farther along the table, and left.

"What did you do, Harry?" demanded Hermione.

He shrugged. "You know as much as I do about this. I guess I'll find out when I get there." Harry snagged a piece of toast and began to leave the table.

"Good luck," Ron saluted. Amazingly, his mouth was empty at the time.

-o-

Harry was immediately allowed past the great stone gargoyle, and he patted his robes as he rode the winding staircase upwards, attempting to shed the toast crumbs he had collected on his way to the Headmaster's office. At the top of the stairs, the door was slightly ajar, and the Headmaster's voice immediately called him in.

"Harry, my boy, thank you for coming. May I offer you a lemon drop?"

Harry declined the offer. "Headmaster, I was summoned. I hardly had any choice in the matter." Dumbledore's grandfatherly good humor was replaced by a shocked, hurt look. He looked thoughtful for a moment, but returned to the visit.

"Harry, from the detention records, you seem to be the last person to have seen Prof. Umbridge last night. Please tell me everything about what happened while you were with her last night."

Harry recounted his arrival at the DADA teacher's office, her confiscation of his wand, and how she set him to writing "I must not tell lies."

"How many times did you have to repeat the line?"

Harry shrugged. "She didn't give me a number. She said I had to continue until she thought I had learned my lesson."

Dumbledore might have looked perturbed – it was hard to tell, since he was working his 'kindly, wise guardian' persona for all he was worth. "Was there anything else out of the ordinary?"

"She told me not to bother using my own quill; she gave me one to use that didn't need any ink."

Dumbledore _definitely_ looked disturbed at that. "Harry, I believe that there may be some details that you do not recognize as significant that I need to know. Will you permit me to view your memory of the event?"

Harry perked up. "How do you do that?"

"There are two ways, my boy." Harry bristled at that little condescension. "The first is by using a simple charm so that I can see your recollection of events." Harry recoiled a bit at that – after the events of last year, his trust in the old man had dwindled quite a bit. "That method is fast, but imprecise, and I fear that it may not allow me to focus on what I need." Harry tried to conceal his relief.

"The second method is to extract a copy of the memory from your mind and to place it in a pensieve."

"What's that?"

"An enchanted bowl made for viewing memories, both your own and others'." Dumbledore guided Harry through the method of extracting memories. With a small strand of glistening memory hanging from Harry's wand, Dumbledore went to a cabinet and retrieved a wide, shallow basin made of silver, covered with runes both inside and out. Harry tilted his wand, allowing the silvery strands to fall into the bowl, and Dumbledore showed Harry how to enter the memory.

Once they had both entered, Dumbledore gestured with his wand, and Harry saw the events of last night's detention play out. He was not watching Dumbledore's reactions so he was quite surprised when they were ejected from the pensieve.

"Harry, my boy, whatever possessed you do say such things? How could you do something so reckless?"

Harry was confused, and said as much.

"Your invocation of … an outside power … could subject you to forces and compulsions that are completely unpredictable. Past history shows that wizards do not fare well when powers from beyond our realm are invoked." Dumbledore continued to shake his head – in disappointment rather than disbelief, Harry felt. "That was rash, my boy. Quite reckless."

Harry snorted and said flatly, "If there was a day when your school taught about this, I missed it. _Headmaster_."

Dumbledore waved this indictment away, and went on, "This at least explains poor Delores. She wasn't expecting to be confronted with such willful irresponsibility. I shall have to contact the Auror department for a replacement, I suppose."

As Dumbledore went on about arranging for a new teacher, Harry let himself out the door and down the spiral staircase. As far as he was concerned, it was over. Nobody had caught that he hadn't been punished for screwing with Umbridge's class, and he wasn't about to tell them. _Done._

Others believed differently.

-o-

The evening meal began with a series of announcements from the Deputy Head, as Albus was absent for some reason. "Our Defense Against the Dark Arts classes will resume on Monday next, under the direction of Prof. Chamberlain. Prof. Chamberlain is a retired Auror of some renown, and has consented to share her skills with our students for the remainder of the year." Polite applause was the response.

McGonagall went on, "We have discovered the understandable reason that our previous DADA professor fled the castle. In short, she was simply unprepared to be confronted by Mr. Potter when he swore vengeance upon her for detention, swearing by – and I quote – all that is holy. Unquote." She spat the words from her mouth with evident distaste. "I will leave it up to individual students if they wish to be in the company of Mr. Potter," again with the spitting, "when the consequences of his thoughtless actions catch up with him."

The students in the Great Hall greeted this announcement with silence, somewhat like an anti-shout. Some Gryffindors – including Ron! – shifted their seats away from Harry; Seamus and Dean actually got up and moved their plates farther along the table.

McGonagall, who had offered herself as the Head of Harry's family at school, was acting in ways that reminded Harry – quite forcefully – of his Aunt Petunia. The emotional about-face, the sneer, and the pointed sniffing ( _oh, the sniffing!_ ) gave the young man shudders. What stood out the most for Harry, though, was how nobody had explained what he had done. What was so bad?

Harry looked along the assembled Professors at the High table. Snape, looking at him with his customary hostility, showed no change. The other Heads of House (Heads of Houses? Harry really had issues with plurals withal the titles in the Wizarding world) were also obviously of no help; where once their faces showed good cheer and open honesty, they now looked closed and unapproachable. Hagrid was gone somewhere this year – Harry had bets on either an errand for Dumbledore, or visiting Norbert. His replacement, Prof. Grubbly-Plank, was an unknown for Harry, even though Harry had been in several of his classes – no help there. Trelawny was, as usual, taking her meals elsewhere (probably with a good bit of alcohol); Babbling and Vector never interacted with Harry in the first place, and their faces showed they were going to continue in that vein. Prof. Sinistra only talked to him during Astronomy class, and … that looked to continue in _that_ vein. She was (as usual) more than slightly asleep, but Harry doubted that her half-awake state would be more approachable.

After the last four years, the head of his house had a lot to answer for. _I'll give her one more chance – she explains and is fair, I'll go along with it. If it's not my fault, though …_

The end of the meal came quickly (for those not observing Ron Weasley), and Harry approached the High Table as most of the students left for their evening homework / goof off / attempt-to-build-an-awkward-romance. There were a few students taking care of some business with the Professors, and Harry joined the queues. After dealing with several students with transfiguration questions, Harry was left facing the Deputy Headmistress. Her mien shifted to one less approachable, not an easy task given her normal forbidding expression.

"Mr. Potter?"

Harry was ready – possibly over prepared, but hanging out with Hermione would do that to a bloke. "I need to speak with my head of House. When will she be available?"

Sniff. "I can attend to your problem right here, Mr. Potter."

Harry immediately shot back, "Then I will have to _publicly_ petition the Deputy Headmistress, who is in charge of internal discipline, for a _public_ motion of censure against the head of Gryffindor house, for refusing to attend to house business in the manner laid out in the Hogwarts Student Handbook." He paused while that sank in … which it did, by her suddenly pained look. He continued in an even tone, "When is my head of house next available to attend to her charges?"

Slowly, "We can meet in my office immediately. Follow me." As they left the staff area, Harry had a quick glimpse of the other Professors. All seemed grim, except for a twitching corner of the mouth on … Snape? _Perhaps he likes a good Slytherin ploy. Or maybe his hatred of Gryffindor is actually a hatred of McGonagall. Probably won't make his classes any easier to take, though._

Warily, the two fell into step through the halls of the great castle. Following in her wake, Harry noticed that the knots of students fell silent as they approached, and didn't seem to pick up again as they passed. It was different than the usual silence that bloomed around a professor – the cover-up chatter was missing and Harry just knew that it was because of him. The rest of the walk was shrouded in uncomfortable silence. Harry kept reviewing what he knew – what Hermione had taught him, really – about the Hogwarts Code of Conduct and the Student Handbook.

Once seated in McGonagall's office (Harry decided that in his head, at least, he didn't have to give anyone any respect they didn't earn) that conversation began without any social niceties. "What did I do to make everyone hate me this year?"

McGonagall looked over her desk with her traditional expressionless (and thus quite forbidding) face. "You made an oath invoking Deity. For well-known reasons, that makes everyone reluctant to be associated with you. Until the results of the oath are known, and we can be sure that you will not make similar verbal threats, nobody wishes to be linked with you, either in professional, social, or magical arenas." She sniffed and added, "Were it not for the specific invoking of my school responsibilities, I would not speak with you either, Mr. Potter."

Harry sighed, and sat back as well as he could into her supremely uncomfortable chairs. "So what are these," and he made air quotes with his fingers, "well-known reasons?"

McGonagall pursed her lips. "As covered in the first-year History class, angelic messengers have been known to remove magical ability from people, groups, and entire countries. Anaximandros, the magical counselor to Pythagóras, recorded that Atlantis was destroyed when a vengeful angel turned the entire population into squibs."

Harry thought about that … and then thought about when that might have been taught in his first year. Eventually, he spoke, "And that would have been taught toward the end of the middle of first term? Say, on November first?"

He could see that McGonagall made the connection, and continued. "On the day when you told Ron and myself to stay with Hermione in the hospital wing to help her calm down? From the troll attack?"

He got up, leaving the silent Professor sitting behind her desk. "My oath was conditional. Umbridge declined to fulfill the conditions. There are no unfilled conditions that can harm any students. I have done nothing to earn such hatred from you." At the door, he turned and looked at her, still silent. He shook his head, and left one parting shot. _She loves quidditch, and covets the House cup. Let's see how this sits with her._ "I am formally resigning from the house quidditch team. I cannot count of the support of my house under your leadership; I refuse to give the House my support in return." _You failed the test, McGonagall_. He didn't bother to check her reaction – that wasn't why he did it, after all.

Out in the hall, his eyes narrowed. Without guidance, finding out how to navigate these new waters would be chancy. _At best_. The staff of his school would obviously not help educate him – he would have to look elsewhere. Most of the students were out; those that have any idea of what he needed to know were the ones that had the most motivation to stay away from him. _At least I have some idea where to start_.

-o-

 **Thursday, September 14, 1995**

Angelina confronted Harry at breakfast – well, before Harry had sat down to breakfast, actually. Harry was already a bit irritable from a nightmare featuring Voldemort, and dealing with an incipient mob of idiots didn't help him calm down any. She was backed up by a small mob of her teammates and quidditch fans. "What's this I hear about you quitting, Potter? We need you!"

Harry shook his head. "No, you only need me if you refuse to train some other seeker. And _I_ refuse to make McGonagall look good when she's done her level best to turn the entire school against me." He took a breath and his voice sharpened. "I saw you last night, Angelina. You – and all the rest of the team – turned away from me when McGonagall made her announcement. You won't have my back, and I don't think you'll protect me, and I'm damn sure that I'm not going out on a pitch where _both_ teams want me dead." _Sod off!_

Harry sat down at the end of the Gryffindor table, and the crowd wandered off. He shrugged; they had a few weeks to find and train a replacement, and Harry didn't really care how they did. _Consequences are a bitch, kids. Better learn that now before you put your trust in the Professors or the Ministry._

-o-

Classes were … odd. The normally helpful Charms teacher ignored Harry outright. Flitwick _might_ have murmured something about "lost cause" and "die soon enough", but anything else was lost in the bustle of classroom noise. Squeaky voices didn't carry well, Harry noticed. Prof. Sprout treated Harry as part of the group, but refused to speak with Harry individually. It was just less obvious, but essentially the same as Prof. Flitwick. Prof. Grubbly-Plank followed their lead, essentially ignoring Harry's existence. Prof. Trelawney did her usual expressions of foreboding and gloom at Harry, all the while refusing to speak to him, about him, or of him – it was quite odd, but then … it _was_ Trelawney.

The replacement DADA teacher, Prof. Chamberlain, refused to call on Harry, regardless of the provocation (such as Harry almost jumping up and down while waving his arm wildly – to be fair, Harry didn't have anything to really add to the discussion, this was just testing the waters.) The class continued to read through the Slinkhard book, which was possibly the worst approach to Defense that Harry could possibly think of. Prof. McGonagall was worse than the rest, though – her constant gaze of hostility and disappointment really cut Harry to the quick. His excellent performance in transfiguring furry little rodents into household implements was completely ignored, with no points offered – or taken, when a stressed Harry flipped the Professor the bird just before the end of the period.

Even worse for Harry's sense of balance was that the only professor that treated him the same was … Snape. The potions class that week featured the same amount of unfairness, hovering, glaring, and sabotage that Harry was accustomed to in a usual lesson. So much so, that Harry spoke up as the class was cleaning up their brewing stations.

"Professor?"

The usual sneer was hanging on Snape's face. "What, Potter?"

"Thank you for not blindly following the crowd, and treating me the same as you had previously. It is good to know that your professionalism cannot be swayed just because others have a poor opinion of me." Harry flashed his nemesis an impudent grin and walked out the door of the Potions classroom as Snape began turning purple.

Harry was twenty feet down the hall when he finally heard a cry of, "POTTER!"

The grin on Harry's face lasted for several hours. And despite it all, _still_ none of the other students would talk to him.

-o-

 **Friday, September 15, 1995**

Friday evening, the Gryffindor common room was full and noisy; observers expected a party to break out at any minute, much like every Friday previous. Harry sat along the far wall, between the staircases leading to the dorm rooms, and let the life and sound wash over him.

It was actually more lonely than being alone, when none of the friendship was even allowed to flow his way.

Neville, Ron, Dean, and Seamus had all ignored Harry through dinner, and were now involved in a spirited comparison of Quidditch teams; Dean and Seamus were currently trying to force Ron to acknowledge the Chudly Cannons as "unskilled losers that could be defeated by a team that didn't show up." As that had actually happened three times in the Cannons' history, Ron found it difficult to deny, but he was stubbornly clinging to his team affiliation.

But even with the genial atmosphere, there was about a five-foot circle around Harry that everyone avoided. No eye contact, no offers of food, no conversation. Harry was alone in Hogwarts, and even now, he still didn't understand exactly why just about everyone avoided him.


	3. Practical Theology

**Chapter 3: Practical Theology**

 **Sunday, September 17, 1995**

What Harry needed was someone who did not allow Wizarding prejudices to get in their way. Maybe … someone who refused to buy the standard line on house elves?

"Ok, Hermione, what do you know about Wizards and Gods?"

She looked up from the massive tome she had open on the reading room desk. It had taken Harry quite a while to locate Hermione this evening, as he had never known about the little private rooms that were concealed within the library walls. The Marauder's Map was unfailingly accurate, though, and finally Madam Pince had taken pity on the boy (and preserved the hush in her library) by showing him how to detect and unlatch each of the study carrels. And fortunately, in private, Hermione wasn't about to abandon a friend (although she had regretfully explained that she just couldn't afford to befriend him in public.)

"There's nothing to tell, Harry. There's no such thing as God." Her tone was a little bitter, and Harry could tell that there was some history there.

"Really? Last year, you were telling us in the common room that there's no possible way to prove a negative, like if something doesn't exist. So how did you manage to figure that out?"

Hermione looked taken aback, and she turned away from the open tome. "You remember that?"

Harry nodded. "You really push me to do the best I can, and you try to get me to find a future instead of being a road bump on Voldemort's path to power. I may not always understand what you are telling me, but I try to pay attention and remember it."

Hermione visibly swallowed. "I'm … I'm … flattered, I guess. I just … um, I guess that I had no idea that you paid any attention."

"Well, I do, and now I want to know how you managed to do the impossible. You did say that it was impossible right?"

Hermione sighed, and it wasn't a simple expression of frustration. This was a bone-weary expression of near despair, and Harry was obscurely saddened to hear this from his long-time friend. "I know God does not exist, because if He did, things we've seen would not have happened."

Harry's mouth twitched. "Really? God doesn't act the way I want, so He can't possibly exist? Hermione Granger is the ultimate arbiter of how God should act? And I'm your friend – that's got to be some pretty good pull in the karma department, right?" Harry was upbeat, as he had been able to sleep well for the past four nights – no nightmares.

Hermione smirked a little in response. "That does sound a little arrogant, doesn't it? No, I mean that we've seen V… Voldemort's shade escape death. If there is any kind of, of, lawgiver for supernatural law, than V, V, Voldemort would have to pay for his crimes, or, well, sins, I guess. No punishment, so no law, so no lawgiver." She sighed again, expressing bitterness and disappointment. "It's not arrogance, Harry. It's simple reasoning. There is no kindly father in the sky that will pat us on the head and make it all better. We're on our own, Harry, and nothing will save us if we don't do it ourselves."

Harry let her words sit between them for a moment. "I can tell that you've put some thought into this. And I have learned to not bet against you." He leaned closer to her, looking deep into her eyes. "But you did tell me once that a third year can't create a corporeal patronus. And if I had asked on October 30, 1991, you would have told me that a first year couldn't defeat a troll." He stood up straight. "You've made up your mind. I won't argue. I appreciate the chance to talk to you about this."

"Of course, Harry. You're important."

Harry faked a look of astonishment. "As important as that big, thick book you're ignoring to talk to me? Wow! I really have arrived!"

She almost giggled, and almost pushed him through the door. "Prat!"

Harry let himself out. _But not important enough to let people know that I'm worth your time. Not important enough for you to act like a friend where you have to deal with being counted with me_. Harry's circle of friends – already small to start with – shrank by one. _To zero_. He was appreciative of her help … but friendship was a big enough deal to Harry that serious obligations were attached. Hermione didn't want to meet those commitments; she was no longer a friend. Harry felt a small sense of loss, but deep down, he knew that he was better off only depending on those that would actually support him. _Which at the moment was … no-one._

It was interesting, though – Hermione supported Harry through the Tri-Wizard stupidity last year, the dementor swarms two years ago, and the 'Heir of Slytherin' mess before that … and then she bails when Harry is marked as a pariah because of ignorance? Something didn't add up.

Harry shrugged to himself. Hermione's foibles were no longer his problem. _I may need a friend, but I'm not going to beg for one. Sod them all._

-o-

 **Wednesday, September 20, 1995**

That evening, Harry was idly exploring the castle. Hogwarts had seven floors, two basement levels, several wings, six main towers (five if you didn't count the Headmaster's office – and almost 30 if you counted all the minor spires), and was really designed for many more students (and staff) that it currently held. The Marauder's Map was great for helping him find people, but there were hallways and classrooms and balconies and nooks that weren't occupied for years on end. The house-elves did what they could, but the sense of abandonment was palpable once you got above the fourth floor in most areas.

Wandering the castle was the one way Harry had found to unwind from a night of terrors, watching Voldemort kill people with a sadistic thrill. Two days ago, Harry had woken up screaming, having dreamt of Voldemort and his band of morally deprived apes burning a muggle family to death in their beds. Then yesterday, Harry had glimpsed the front page of the Daily Prophet; the lead story was the Dark Mark over the site of a muggle family's death where they – and their young 5-year-old witch daughter – had been sealed in their house and burned. _They're true. They're all true_. Harry shuddered. If each of his nightmares were an actual, live scene of Death Eaters at work … _how many people have they killed since last June? Twenty? Thirty five?_ Through force of will, Harry pushed the mental pictures aside, and went back to exploring.

Harry found several rooms on the sixth floor that had been set up as (possibly) illicit hidey-holes for lustful encounters, one that was so ghastly and lurid that it must have been decorated by a color-blind wizard with access to muggle hallucinogens. One seemed recently used (which really made him careful about what he touched), and there was a further room set up as an abandoned potions lab; two cauldrons were encased in a shimmering flow of magic that Harry suspected stopped the brewing process, but the rest of the room indicated that there hadn't been anyone around for decades. Harry cautiously didn't touch anything there, either.

On his way back to the more trafficked parts of Hogwarts, he was stopped by sounds that woke him from his daze.

"Strip, you bitch!" Oddly, the voice demanding this was female. "Let's see if your floozle-wumpers can get you back your wand!"

 _Ah, bullying_. Harry's eyes narrowed. _Maybe I'll get to hurt someone_. The shunning he had been going through really made him want to lash out, and here was a perfect opportunity. And Voldesnort's nightly torture sessions made him want to lash out _hard_. He put his hand on his wand, took a deep breath, and walked around the corner.

In a flat, uncompromising tone, Harry said, "Hi, I'm a floozle-wumper." He looked at the three girls – Ravenclaw robes, upper years. One was Mandy Brocklehurst, the expression on her face decreasing her attractiveness quite a bit; the other two were behind her and spread out, but with no wands out. _Mandy is leading this_. All three girls seemed a little unnerved by his unexpected appearance.

Harry approached way too close to Brocklehurst – she backed up a step involuntarily – and stared her in the eyes. "You give back everything you took, vow to leave her alone in the future, and I'll leave you alone. Pay attention to her, and I'll … pay attention … to you." His voice was flat and hard.

Brocklehurst seemed frozen and didn't respond. Harry tried again. "Fair?" He narrowed his eyes a bit. He was spoiling for a fight, and was sure that his desires were leaking a little. Brocklehurst's eyes widened at Harry's cheap shot, shook her head to clear it, and backed away, flanked by her two goons. The wand in her hand was tossed to the floor in front of Harry, and they turned to walk quickly down the hall.

Harry rotated to see who he had defended. She was a slight girl, quite blonde, with warm grey eyes and an air of distractibility – clothed, fortunately. _For two reasons, at least_. She was looking all around, but not quite at Harry, twisting to follow the apparent flight of invisible things.

Harry chose to break the ice after several seconds of silence from the girl. "And you are..?"

She seemed to snap back to the here and now. "Oh, yes, I'm Luna Lovegood." Her attention was immediately pulled away by … something.

Harry picked up her wand from where it lay on the floor. He looked down at her – she was such a petite little thing – and silently offered it to her. She didn't seem to notice for a few moments, but while her attention was apparently following something in the air, her hand reached out and deposited the wand behind her ear. _Hm. Haven't seen that before_.

"Luna … Luna …" Harry decided to go on without evidence of actual communication. "If you have any more issues with bullies – those girls or any others – you let me know, and I'll take care of it. Okay?"

Luna's gaze was all over the place, but she still was able to respond, "Oh, that's okay. You don't have to bother." Her voice was a disinterested sing-song.

For some reason, (perhaps because he didn't get enough confrontation with the bullies) Harry found that almost infuriating. He reached out and gently turned Luna's head toward him and looked her in the eyes. "I know I don't have to. I _choose_ to." He released her chin and straightened up. "People don't think that I'm a good friend these days, but I can still take out the bullies. You don't have to be friends with me for that." A note of self-pity had crept into his voice, and Harry hated that, and it led to him revealing more than he had intended.

Luna's gaze fixated on Harry as she considered. "Are you willing to be friends?" Her voice was markedly less airy.

Harry snorted, "Yep. But since I got tripped up by an obscure Wizarding custom, nobody will talk with me. Except Snape," he added with a half-smirk. "But I don't think that can really be classified as human interaction."

Luna didn't crack a smile. "I don't have any friends."

"I know what that feels like. The loneliness just wears on you." Harry hesitated. "You don't have to answer if it makes you uncomfortable, but I can't see why you don't have friends. I mean, you're pretty, and you're in Ravenclaw so you're smart, and you see things I can't, so I'd think that most of Ravenclaw would be lined up to talk to you, and just about any boy that can ..." Harry trailed off, "make intelligent conversation …" He reconsidered with a full-on smirk. "OK, so most guys are out. But that still leaves the female half of the 'Claws."

Luna ducked her head as Harry spoke. In a small voice, she responded, "They think I'm making up the things I see. They make fun of me and take my things."

Harry snorted. "I can fix that." He frowned. "At least some of it." Harry took a deep breath. "Perhaps you could point out that a true Ravenclaw would design an experiment to prove that what you see is really there, and not just a figment of your imagination. I mean, anyone with any intelligence sometimes wonders if they are experiencing an illusion or reality, right? Maybe they could design an experiment to prove that what you see is real." Silently, he winced, but he had to go on and say it. "And even if what you see really exists, there is the possibility that your interpretation of what you see isn't completely correct. For instance," he hastily added, "I'm talking, alone, with a pretty girl; an objective observer could easily read some romantic intent into our conversation, even though we know there isn't any."

Luna tilted her head to the side and frowned. "You want me to sidetrack them into an argument of noumenon versus phenomenon? But that's a completely pointless … oh!" Her face suddenly sported a brilliant smile. "That's brilliant! Thank you, Harry!" Luna darted forward and Harry was experiencing a tight hug. Less desperate-seeming than Hermione's, Luna simply enfolded Harry in her arms and shared her acceptance with him. His initial reaction was to stiffen his neck and chest where she touched him – _don't be soft, don't be vulnerable_ – but that soon eased as he accepted her … approval. After the days of isolation that Harry had experienced, he had to actively repress the tears that threatened, unbidden, to fall from his face. It helped to distract Harry from what she said, which made absolutely no sense at all to him – so he fell back on his Hermione-skills and ignored it.

Eventually (and part of Harrys heart protested, much too soon) Luna drew back. She checked the time with a quick Tempus charm, and said, "Oh, it is time to get to supper. But Harry?"

He mumbled, "Yes," not being completely recovered.

Luna's face looked a little uncertain. "I think that you probably haven't been told the truth about why you have been ostracized. Can we meet after supper so I can explain it?"

"Sure!" Harry couldn't suppress his sudden spike of joy, although it wasn't for Ravenclaw reasons. Harry tried not to think about why a promise of human interaction would lift his spirits so much.

-o-

After dinner, Harry and Luna walked up to a promising room on the 5th floor. From the color scheme, it seemed to be excess storage for the Hufflepuff common room, with comfy yellow chairs, stools, ottomans, and various tables (which were all in black.) The elves had kept the dust away, so there was no indication if this room had been frequented recently (or ever) – but Harry and Luna both felt that the 'Puff reputation for friendliness meant that they wouldn't object to a brief 'borrowing' of the items.

Luna began, "Harry, I don't think that you've ever been taught the Wizarding world's idea of where magic comes from." Harry indicated that she was correct. "But what it boils down to is that there was a magical land called Atlantis, and they grew very powerful. They tried to bend the laws of magic itself, instead of working _with_ them. Eventually, God sent an angel to punish the people of Atlantis – the ability to use magic was taken from them." She changed her tone a bit and added, "Some of the survivors when Atlantis fell settled in Egypt, and founded the earliest dynasties there. Some of the worst officials tried to escape their impending punishment by going forward in time – they ended up as the precursors to the Mayan peoples, sacrificing thousands in their failed efforts to practice Blood Magic."

Harry sat back, thoughtfully listening. Assured of her audience, Luna went on, "But the truth of magic goes back further than that. But that's why _they_ think that the Wizarding world refuses to approach God or His messengers."

"Okay, then – what is the real story?" Harry fully relaxed in his yellow sofa while Luna spun a tale, recounting it in the bed-time-story fashion that she learned it.

 **Luna's Story**

 _The universe is vast beyond knowing, and has worlds unnumbered. The creations of God have lived and died throughout the eons and ages, and on some of those worlds, evil has triumphed. In the course of uncounted years, that evil has left the land of its deviant birth and spread from land to land, world to world, from star to star, until even the Great Creator has sought helpers to staunch the spread of the Dark._

 _But when you are The One True God, you have only subjects, not allies._

 _Thus was the Master of the Universe brought to this dangerous gamble, to create a world of His Children, that some may prove themselves worthy to be heirs, and partners against the Evil. The brightness and possibilities that hinge on this chance calls out across the unfathomable void, calling to those Powers that have a stake in the future that could be forged here – the hopeful focus of all that is holy and the malevolent focus of all that is cursed._

 _To protect this crèche of little deities, Angels were tasked to walk the earth and protect its inhabitants from the Outside Dark. These Nephilim, as they were known, mixed with their charges, and their offspring became a part of the Children of God that they were tasked with protecting._

 _The Eldritch Evil came to watch this little, fragile, spark of life amongst the frozen void, and sent their own servants to bend the future to their own twisted desire, and their servants also mixed with their prey. All these children that had additional heritage were known together as Fae; both the Fallen and the Ascended came together as outcasts in a world Created for the nurture of only part of their heritage. Some of the Fallen continued to serve their Creator, while some were bitter and spurned the commands that were implanted in their beings. Some few of the Ascended continued to serve the Shadow that had birthed them, while some tasted of the Light and knew that it was Good._

 _The blood and birth that began with the Children of God had spread, encompassing new powers and new abilities in the hands of the Fae. Now the definition of the Children of God expanded, adopting in their cousins of the Fae, adding their new abilities to the heritage of God._

 _Pure Mankind were of the household of God, and had no heritage to pull them elsewhere, though they could serve others should they choose. Those who had some descent from the Eldritch Evil manifested powers over Reality, able to control various aspects of the physical world. And those who had heritage from the Servants of God, outcast upon the earth, found that their affinities to Perceive and comprehend greatly aided their Fathers' Calling to serve and protect their fellow Children._

 _The blood and heritage of these three, the Children, the Created, and the Corrupted, mixed and blended until scarcely any man upon the earth escaped both the blessing and burden of the triple birthright. Among those abilities that were unearthed among those with the Tri-Fold Heritage … was Magic._

Harry sat forward, fully engrossed in the history. "So magic comes from the Nephilim? Or the Corrupted?"

Luna shook her head. "No, it's a legacy of the Children. It is the _lack_ of magic that tends to indicate a majority Fae ancestry. We have the heritage of godliness, Harry. And so many – just about everybody – in the Wizarding world abuses it. Being called to account before the Bar of God usually ends up … badly … for magical people."

Harry's mind raced forward, making connections as fast as the questions occurred to him. "And the house elves? Are they the Corrupted?"

Luna smiled, showing a dimple on one cheek. "Partially, although that's rude to say. I'd just refer to 'the triple birthright.' After all, none of us can help what our parents did. Actually," she added, "a lot of the magical creatures we know have a significant amount of heritage from the Outside Dark or from the Nephilim. But just about all of the non-human sapient beings are primarily Children, with a bit of Created or Corrupted inheritance."

Harry considered what he had been told. _Acromantula? Really?_ Finally he asked, "And what of you, Luna? You see more than most, and you seem to know things that nobody else will teach me."

She was quiet, her head hung low.

"My family has a bit more fae heritage than most," she admitted. She seemed ashamed.

Harry moved to touch her hand. "Nephilim, right? You protect and guide the Children, and since you have magic, you're obviously also a child of God, and so can receive all His gifts. And if you have more Nephilim heritage, and you're still magical, then you must also have a pretty strong inheritance from the Children, right?" His mouth showed a soft smile.

Luna's face showed a small blush. Harry thought that she might not be used to people accepting her as she had done to him. _That hug of hers was really brave_.

"And Muggles? Where do they fit in?"

Luna smiled a bit. "We think of them as 'basic humanity', that we are them, with something extra. But really, it's the Muggles that have extra gifts that we really don't. Their science comes from their Nephilim heritage, and their engineering comes from their ancestry from the Corrupted." She shook her head. "Being able to stuff the scent of summer into a laundry soap really requires demonic powers. It's just not natural, and what do they do about all those summer days that have no aroma any longer?"

She cleared her expression and returned to the main subject. Luna said, "All of His children can receive all His gifts – but those with magic have an additional level of accountability, since we have an additional level of responsibility that goes with our magic." She paused. "Harry, maybe you should find more about what God has done in the Wizarding world." At his inquiring look, she went on, "I mean, you've made an oath. It's a little late, but knowing more about how to make sure you don't violate it, and what the penalties are, would be a good idea."

Harry's smile was wider, now. "Thanks, Luna." _Even though it's fairly obvious just what my oath entailed_. He (somewhat regretfully) levered himself off the extremely comfortable lounger he had appropriated. "Shall I walk you to your House?"

"Why, thank you!" Luna stood and placed her hand in the crook of Harry's arm. Their conversation on the way to the Ravenclaw dorms was light, mostly on the latest gossip of the castle. Harry's overheard news was about on par with Luna's, but as they overheard quite different groups, each had 'news' that the other did not.

At the Ravenclaw entrance, Luna patted Harry on the arm and said, "Wait here, please." Harry had about 90 seconds to wait before she popped out of the door. "All my things are back on my bed!" She hugged him again, and this time, Harry was not so stiff. He relaxed into her embrace, and felt her acceptance and gratitude. He took the time as an opportunity to whisper, "Thank you. Helping you made me feel good about myself for the first time in a month. You are an amazing young lady, Luna. I really appreciate being able to be your friend."

Luna looked up at Harry with the biggest smile Harry had ever seen. Her eyes were showing a watery sheen, and she burrowed into Harry's chest giving a sigh of great contentment. Eventually (which was both too short and simultaneously too long), Luna released him.

"You'll never be rid of me now, Harry." She was trying to maintain a straight face, but the tears had dried up and her smile was irrepressible.

"Good." He wanted to say something about how he really needed a friend that wouldn't flake out under pressure, but his previous eloquence had left him, leaving Harry high and dry at the moment. Luna seemed to get the message anyway, and she skipped back to the Ravenclaw entrance.

Harry still had a bit before curfew, and the Gryffindor areas were not hospitable places anymore, so he decided to search the library for those records Luna encouraged him to find. It was not a fruitful search, and it lasted for a very frustrating half-an-hour before curfew sent him back to his dorm.


	4. Research

**Chapter 4: Research**

 **Thursday, September 21, 1995**

Harry was back at it the next morning - on his way into the library, Harry stopped at the desk to speak with Madame Pince. "Madam Pince, I am hoping that you would help me in my research."

The librarian looked up from her work, but said nothing. Harry ventured onwards.

"I am seeking records of previous interactions between the Wizarding world and emissaries of Deity. Do any histories of that exist? My search last night didn't reveal any records that might help me." Harry noticed that he seemed to be picking up Luna's word choice and sentence structure. _It makes me sound smarter – I think I'll keep it_.

Madam Pince nodded, but apparently did not believe that Harry's question required violating the silence of her sanctuary. She took hold of a scrap of parchment, wrote a few lines, and gave it to Harry.

"Um, thank you," replied Harry, a little startled at the immediate help. "If there is anything I can do to repay your kindness, please don't hesitate to call on me."

Harry was more than a little astounded when the librarian leaned forward. In a hoarse whisper, she said, "Return the books by the due date. Do not let them out of your sight."

Harry stilled. He was unexpectedly moved by a staff member that was merely … neutral. Inwardly he shook his head – _life sucks for you, Harrykins; maybe you should be less pathetic, eh?_ Deliberately, he said quietly, "I still owe you a great deal. Thank you for your assistance. I shall follow your instructions completely." Madam Pince sat back, nodded, and returned her attention to the papers on her desk.

Harry spent quite some time in the stacks, tracking down the three books written on the parchment. _Outsiders Among Us_ , by Ambrose Diligaster, attested to be a history of angelic encounters among wizards, published in 1453. The tome proved to be somewhat of an early conspiracy theory, focusing on teasing out outlandish meanings behind angelic pronouncements and actions; Harry felt that it was a waste of time for him to read much more than the brief synopsis he'd gathered. Under the theory that cultures accumulated understanding, and given the absolute idiocy that the Wizarding world displayed currently, seeking understanding from something half a millennium old was folly. _Or just cracked_.

 _Countering Dark Wizards_ by Flidget Bumgarter (1876) was more helpful, based on the theory that true light was needed to counter the most evil of wizards' spells, exploring how some spells were allegedly influenced by messengers from above during their development, the Patronusspell being the most well-known. Bumgarter also referenced a class of spells that Harry had never heard of before, the benedictions. Apparently, these were like curses, but somehow opposite – Harry made a note for further study.

 _Spells and Rituals That Will Change Your Life, 1st Edition, ed. Rauff Palleser (Flourish & Blotts Press, 1884) _was the book that gave Harry the most trouble locating, and the most trouble understanding. There were several later editions (3rd, 7th through 11th, and 19th) on the shelves that were easy to locate, but he finally found the first edition on a dusty shelf at floor level marked 'Outdated & Depreciated.' The contents were also difficult to process; not just because of the sheer size of the book (six inches thick, and pages were a full ten by sixteen-and-a-bit inches) – this was a hefty block of wood. There were a multitude of spells and rituals listed inside, complete with multicolored animated drawings for wand motions, rune layouts, and diagram placements – some with fold-out pages. Sadly, like most wizarding publications, there was no table of contents, index, or anything that would have helped Harry skim through the contents. The only way through was page by page.

Harry spent a lot of time in his own study room, first reading Bumgarter thoroughly – there was definitely something to this idea that Heaven would help those who diligently sought for assistance. There were references and allusions to some … process … that would allow a wizard (or witch, or course) to petition for heavenly assistance, but there were no specifics. Harry was intrigued, but was completely without any guidance.

-o-

 **Saturday, September 23, 1995**

Harry had sent an inquiry to Flourish & Blotts about the massive spell compedium; they were, after all, the publishers. The sheer scope of the contents made Harry sure that he had way too much to look through and not enough time; he needed a copy that he could study without a time crunch. The response, though, wasn't promising:

 _RE: Spells and Rituals That Will Change Your Life, 1st Edition_

 _As we have repeatedly stated to all inquiries, this volume has been withdrawn from publication by request of the Ministry of Magic, and has been superseded by numerous following editions in the following one hundred and eleven years. As directed by the Ministry, we have a standing offer to replace any extant 1st editions with the last published corrected edition, which at this time is the 21st edition._

 _The Ministry wishes us to inform all inquiries that the First edition contains several errors in its contents, and should not be used as a source of information. There are also reports that the pages contain a curse that activates when read that can lead to excruciating, unremitting pain. The Ministry apologizes for the oversight which allowed this volume to be printed and foisted upon the public, and is making every effort to retrieve said copies within the allowances of the Ministry budget._

"Huh. No help there," murmured Harry. He was impressed with how … complete … Spells and Rituals was – it also covered potions, but gave runes a only a minor mention; no explanations, just rune sequences to be inscribed and used for a particular application. In his mind, he began referring to it as simply, _The Book_ ; it was every spell book he ever needed in one large and frustrating package.

-o-

 **Monday, October 2, 1995**

When he finally was able to turn his complete attention to _The Book_ , his two week check out period had only a few days left. He relocated to the Gryffindor common room so he could have more time searching the massive amount of text.

"Harry, what's that book? I don't think that I've ever seen that one before. Can I take a look at it?" The plea from Hermione was almost faster than he had expected, which was really saying something. Hermione was also defying the social ban on interacting with Harry, which said quite a bit about her; even with all her intelligence, Hermione never did interpret social signals very well.

"It's for some private research. I'm afraid that I can't share this with you, sorry."

"What? Harry, I'm sure that it would be okay if I …"

"Hermione, I had to promise that I would keep this book in sight at all times and that I would not share this book with anyone. I guess that the big question you have to ask yourself is … do you want me to obey the staff, or do you want me to share the book?" Harry asked with a slightly evil grin. _'Do not let it out of your sight'_ could _be translated to 'Do not share', I suppose_.

"Oh! You! … You … Aggh!" was the reply, as she stomped away. _Somewhat mean to pit her love of books against her love of authority, but … had to be done._

He went back to musing about how to ensure access to _The Book_ after the checkout period expired. Finally, he sighed. There was no help for it – he would have to brave Pince's examination again.

The next morning after breakfast, Harry lugged the massive book to the library along with the other two he had borrowed, and placed it with a resounding thump on Madame Pince's desk.

At her inquiring look, Harry said, "My checkout period is over on Thursday. I do not have time for even a cursory examination of the contents of this book. Is there a way to extend this so that I can continue to study the book? I've checked, and there are no copies available for purchase through the booksellers I know."

Madam Pince looked carefully at Harry. Her voice was once again hoarse, most likely because of infrequent use. "Do you wish to own this book yourself?"

Harry nodded, slipping into the non-verbal signals that she seemed to prefer.

"Where was the book shelved?"

"Obsolete and Depreciated, bottom shelf."

The librarian nodded. She picked up her wand and traced several patterns over the cover of _The Book_ for several seconds. At last she stopped. "This book has been removed from the Hogwarts library. You may own it."

Harry immediately knew he was over his head with a treasure like that. "Is there a book on how to best care for old books like this?"

Madam Pince's expression quickly moved from her customary frozen mask to a thin-lipped smile; it looked unnatural and infrequently used, but also heartfelt. She quickly produced a small book from under her desk and placed in on top of _The Book_. "This is yours as well." Harry found it difficult to read upside down, but made out the title and author, suppressing a smile. _Proper Magical Book Care_ by Irma Pince.

"Thank you," Harry whispered, taking his books away to his dorm.

-o-

 **Thursday, October 12, 1995**

Paging through _The Book_ was … well, Luna would use a word like 'interminable', but Harry just figured that an hour of looking through each cramped, crowded page took at least a year off his life span from sheer boredom. _The Book_ contained the era-appropriate versions of _The Standard Book of Spells_ (for all years), the series of _Gamp's Transfiguration Guides_ (again, for all years) and a number of sections aimed at DADA classes.

All this took up barely a tenth of the pages – obviously, _The Book_ was heavily charmed, and even more obviously to Harry, _**it needed a bloody index**_! Especially when Harry finally came across a section that promised to relieve the major pain he was experiencing at the moment.

Harry had three places to study; the Gryffindor Common room, the library study tables, and the hidden library carrels. Dragging _The Book_ out in the Griff commons seemed a little inadvisable to Harry; he was starting to see it as a hidden treasure and his ace in the hole. _Especially since the Ministry doesn't want anyone to have a copy – and the wording of the letter from F &B indicates that the cover story is pretty thin and not believed. Good; I wasn't looking forward to 'unremitting pain.'_ The library study tables were a little more private, but he was able to quietly spy on others, so it wasn't unreasonable to assume that others were doing it to him, so that was out. And the study carrels had a major drawback to offset their complete privacy; Hermione.

To be specific, she continued to pester him about access to the enormous book that he was reading every chance he got. Harry very carefully never told her that he owned _The Book_ now – her assumptions that he would have to eventually return it kept her in check. _Somewhat_.

So when Harry found a section on permanent conjuration and transfiguration for home construction that was "within the reach of every Proper Wizard – perfect for the exhausted Witch!" well, he knew exactly how he wanted to use those spells. (Well, after puzzling over what could be a subtle gender-based insult.) He consulted Luna before beginning, of course, as he'd developed a healthy respect for her sideways thinking.

"So where should I make my new dorm room?"

Luna immediately needed to discover which answers would work best. "What do you want to accomplish with this move?"

Harry had to stop and arrange his thoughts to verbalize them. "I don't want to deal with the people that keep ignoring me. I want a room where I can relax. I don't want to have to hide anything from anyone."

Luna's eyes sparkled. "And when you're not hiding _anything_ , can I visit?" Her tone was innocent, but her expression clued Harry into the fact that she was kidding … _and_ making a barely veiled (and awkward) innuendo. It didn't keep him from blushing heavily, though.

"Really, Harry. It looks like you'll need a few rooms – maybe two small classrooms to remodel into a study, bedroom, and an en suite. And you may want to think about making sure you can't be found in the dead of night, as the nargles come to rip you out of your bed and put you back where they want you."

Harry was a little surprised at Luna's clear-headed analysis of the risks he was taking – if one could substitute 'Staff' for 'nargles.' "I wouldn't have thought of that, Luna. Thanks to you, I actually stand a chance at making this work."

They bend their heads over parchment, sketching a few different suite layouts.

"Stairs take up a lot of floor-space," Luna observed. "Your best option is to split your suite across a few floors, but the stairs would seriously decrease the amount of useable space in each room."

"Hang on," interrupted Harry. "There's a runic circle in _The Book_ that might fix that …"

They modified their plans – no more stairs. The ladder he used to get to the Divination classroom was an option he immediately discarded, as he had a weekly reminder that carrying items up and down was nearly impossible. The portal circle was a little too tricky (and unstable) for Harry or Luna to feel comfortable with, so they went with their secondary option instead; a pair of flying shafts that would gently propel a person up (or down, depending on the placement of the control runes.) There was an Always Next Door Portal that could virtually join rooms across floors and wings of the castle, but Harry wasn't about to mess with the very fabric of space on this project. When Luna suggested that he would need specialized pinking shears for that, he just grunted and let her joke (he hoped it was a joke) fly right on past.

After their discussion settled on a layout, Harry looked at Luna for a long moment. He shook his head bemusedly, and pulled an old piece of blank parchment from his bag. Luna squinted at it. "That's highly enchanted, Harry. Some of the magic seems to be … incomplete?"

Harry grinned, "Maybe it is. But this was made by a group that included my Dad. It's a map of Hogwarts. We can look here for good places to commandeer for my new rooms."

Luna cocked her head sideways as Harry activated the map. "Did you get a list of all the commands that the map will accept?"

"Um, no, actually. The Weasley twins gave it to me in my second year. I think they decided that I would get more use out of it than they would."

Luna's eyes unfocused as she looked around, but not at, the Map. "There are layers of charms that don't seem to be working." She took her wand from behind her right ear, pointing it at the parchment. "That layer looks interesting …" Luna's wand performed an erratic dance as she mumbled, emitting lights in various colors that joined with the map. "That should do it. _Size Check_!"

"Wha – what did that do?" Harry was taken aback by a ghostly touch that had 'naughty' written all over it.

"Look on the map, Harry," Luna said airily. "You didn't feel that?"

Harry examined the map closely. Along with the miniscule names following the dots in the Gryffindor common room, there were letters or numbers with each name. Along with each female name, there was a letter – A and B were very common with a few C's mixed in, from what he saw, and the male names had a number – usually from 4 to 6. Harry's brow furrowed. What was this? …

Luna laughed at Harry's puzzlement. "This map was created by older teen-aged boys, correct?" Harry nodded. "And what do you suppose that these boys wanted to know about every girl in the castle?"

Harry's eyes grew very wide. "Turn it off, turn it off!" He was almost hyperventilating, he was breathing so fast.

Luna tapped her wand to the map. " _Mischief Managed_! Why Harry? I would have thought that you would have wanted to know the cup size of every woman in the castle?"

Harry was settling down. He slowly said, "I have no business knowing any of that." He looked sideways at Luna. "And it's a terrible invasion of privacy. And if I know that … there's a chance that I'd start making decisions based on … that … and I shouldn't be making decisions that way." He sighed. "Luna, do you really know what all this is leading up to?"

Luna smiled, "It doesn't matter, Harry."

Harry sat back. "What?"

"It doesn't really matter. You have a goal. You are my _friend_." Luna's small smile became a big one. "My goal is to support you in your goal. You don't have to tell me what it is – I'll still help you."

Harry scratched his head and asked, "Even if I'm doing something illegal?"

Luna shrugged. "Doesn't matter to me."

 _Sigh_. "Luna, I'm looking through _The Book_ for a ritual that will let me ask the Courts of Heaven for a favor – or a blessing, I guess." He paused a long time while Luna sat patiently for him to collect his thoughts. "Luna, given all the warnings, I don't expect to survive the ritual. I'm so … _tired_ … of being alone and having to deal with all the _shite_ that comes my way. But you … Luna, you're a fantastic friend. I don't want to leave you alone, either." Harry began to lose control as his eyes watered. "I can't … You're too good to …"

Luna got up from the other side of the table and delicately settled on Harry's lap. She put her arms around his neck and said, "Harry, I will help you do whatever you want to do. If you want to leave this life behind, I will help you in whatever way you desire." She moved her head so she and Harry locked gazes three inches apart. "I will give you whatever help I can, to do whatever you want. I am your _friend_ , Harry." She tightened her arms to embrace him, and he trembled a bit in her arms, unwilling to openly cry.

Harry was settling down, feeling curiously lighter, when Luna spoke up. "But if you do pass on, Harry, can I have the map? I think that I know what those numbers by all the boys means."

Harry jerked back with a strangled, " _LUNA!_ " as she burst into uproarious, delicate laughter.


	5. Public Relations

**Chapter 5: Public Relations**

 **Wednesday, October 18, 1995**

Under Luna's supervision, Harry settled on a couple of rooms on the third and fourth floor. The third floor room was to be his bedroom and en suite, while the fourth floor room would become his study room, complete with a small potions lab in the corner. The entrance to his study room was on the corner of two corridors, in a nook occupied by a fairly surly set of armor. The spells from _The Book_ allowed Harry (and Luna) to enter and leave without attracting attention, making it look like they had just turned the corner. There was also a concealed bolt-hole from the bedroom on the third floor into a dusty broom closet on the second floor; Harry took Luna's warning about the staff very seriously. It was an exhausting weekend, but they managed to get all of the heavy spell work done Friday evening and Saturday, leaving Sunday for recovery before they approached the minor finishing details… which quickly became even more detailed and more exhausting than either of them had foreseen.

The en suite was a cleverly applied set of conjuration runes and temperature charms for the shower and toilet and sink, banishment charms for all drains, and the hot tub constantly moved the water from conjuration point to banishment in a gentle swirl and at an almost scalding temperature. He added the tub because, well, his Aunt Petunia had been begging Uncle Vernon for a hot tub – not so they could use it (Vernon probably wouldn't fit), but so they could show off to the neighbors. Now he had something they wanted and didn't have; it was petty, but Harry couldn't find it in his heart to feel bad about it. Harry arranged the controls for everything so they mimicked a layout that muggles would be familiar with; Luna found the control style captivating and was forever turning the shower on and off. Harry just rolled his eyes. Setting up Wizarding plumbing was so much easier, but wizards seemed to feel that everything had to be controlled with a wand. _And I'd rather not have to use my wand to take a dump_.

Harry had some serious difficulties deciding on a decorating scheme for his new suite. Luna watched him dither for an hour before announcing that he needed to change the colors every day until he found a combination that he liked. Harry reached out with his left arm and hugged her. "You're a brilliant friend." Luna pinked up a little, but smiled brilliantly, as requested. She came up with a bunch of control charms that would guarantee that no combination of colors would ever be repeated (within a Wizard's lifetime, at least), with a small read out for Harry to see just what today's combination was. She apologized that she couldn't come up with a way to record each day's color settings – Harry shrugged. "If I don't care, I don't care enough to have it repeated. If I like it, I can just … write it down." Luna smiled at the simplicity of Harry's solution (and made a note to be around in 257 days; she really wanted to see Harry's reaction to the pulsating paisley scheme. She thought it would be smashing, herself.)

Harry was finishing up the last bit of transfiguration for the en suite when something occurred to him; if the bathrooms need no pipes … _why were there pipes in the walls for the basilisk to use?_ After a few moments of contemplation, Harry shrugged. It was dead now. It didn't really matter anymore. But when he brought it up to Luna, she pointed out that this enchantment approach to plumbing hadn't been developed until after Hogwarts was built – the original plumbing was all based on pipes, with just a little magical assist; gravity was somewhat malleable for the magical plumber, as was pipe diameter.

-o-

 **Thursday, October 19, 1995**

Luna had joined Harry for his first evening in his new hideaway. Harry thought this was a good time to settle a niggling thought that had bothered him for a few weeks.

"Luna, we need to talk."

Unlike most of the castle residents, this phrase did not cause Luna any apparent alarm. She simply put her book down on the study table and turned to face Harry. "What did you want to talk about?" She was completely ready to answer any of Harry's questions.

Harry felt like this was a delicate subject, so he tried to approach it circumspectly. "Luna, when we first met, you mentioned that you see things that other people don't. But you've never talked to me about the things you see – how come?"

At this, Luna turned a little red and looked down at her lap. "Talking about things that only I can see is the main thing I get bullied for. I don't want to cause any problems in our friendship."

Harry gently said, "But that means that I'm not offering real friendship if you have to keep part of yourself hidden. I want to understand the real Luna. You can talk to me about anything."

Luna looked up, her face redder than before. "Really?" Her hopeful, wistful tone tugged at Harry's heart momentarily. (He was, after all, fifteen years old and in possession of a Y chromosome; that he managed to consider somebody else's point of view even for a moment was a monumental effort and should be counted in his favor.)

(Regardless of how little it changed his behavior.)

"Really." After a moment, Harry began again, "So you've talked about wrackspurts and nargles. And I think you told somebody that your earrings are dirigible plums?"

As so they talked for hours, Luna unburdening herself of the things she felt she had to hide, Harry reveling in his ability to give strength to a friend.

Harry was never going back to his old life. He had someone who needed him.

The morning after his first night in the new suite (Luna had left late after curfew; she couldn't get enough of the "zoom tubes" as she called it, moving between floors), Harry's robes and tie lost their red and gold, reverting to a faded black. He shrugged, and didn't bother to check if any of his house point deductions showed up in the official point tallies for his former house.

From then on, Luna occasionally talked about the creatures she saw, and the creatures she hoped to find, the Crumple Horned Snorkack featuring prominently among them. She didn't make a big deal about it, and Harry didn't either, but Luna was starting to become more confident in telling Harry things she 'saw' (or perceived, or intuited, or whatever.)

Harry was glad that her happiness was more apparent; his own was a little frayed. Voldemort's 'visions' were coming more frequently, and Harry suspected that if he bothered to read the Daily Prophet, he would be able to match scenes in his head to killings in the Auror reports. His sleep was continually interrupted, and only Luna's _joie de vivre_ was an even partial antidote for the grinding miasma of pain that occasionally engulfed him.

-o-

 **Monday, October 23, 1995**

Harry and Neville had been paired together for the last month in Potions; Snape apparently found "one-stop shopping" for abuse victims an attractive notion. It was difficult to collaborate when unable to speak to each other; even Harry's willingness to talk to Neville didn't work if Neville didn't talk back. They settled on speaking in very quiet tones, and sticking strictly to the assigned topic.

That didn't stop Snape from yelling at them for disturbing the classroom, but they had learned to tune him out over the last four years.

That Monday, Neville laid a piece of parchment on the desk at the beginning of the lesson. The potion was "Secure Stepping Floor Polish", a waxy substance that made dust and debris slide to the edge of the floor, kept furniture from sliding at all, and wasn't slippery at all for people walking, even when the floor was covered in soap. At least that was the theory. Neville's parchment said, "Need to talk. Fluffy's room after dinner."

Harry 'accidentally' squeezed the mucous from an extra Pygmy Streeler into the shape of a 'Y', which Neville acknowledged with a miniscule nod. It had the happy side effect of dissolving the letter in a quickly moving bit of multicolored flame, destroying the note. "10 points from Gryffindor, Potter!" was ignored by both young men. Harry and Neville turned in their required sample, but Harry spread the remaining paste into an empty tin and pocketed it. It seemed to turn out all right … with the added property of flashing an almost undetectable sickly green and yellow. _Maybe Luna will find a use for it_.

That evening, Harry made his way to the third floor corridor on the left. Harry shook his head in memory; he hadn't been nearly scared enough when facing the Cerebus. _Nor any of the other obstacles, really_. Neville was already in the room, and he conjured a second chair for Harry.

"Thanks, Neville. It's a good chair." Harry sat down on it with no outward hesitation.

Neville fidgeted a little while Harry watched. Finally, Neville said, "I know you've left the tower." He held up a hand to hold off any outburst from Harry. "I don't blame you. In fact, I want to do the same thing." Harry relaxed his tense posture. Neville slowly went on, "I don't think that you'd want me horning in on wherever you've gone … but can you tell me how you did it?"

Harry was more than willing. Neville was not accusing Harry, he just wanted some help that wouldn't cost Harry anything. "Sure, but there's a catch. When we leave Hogwarts, the rooms have to be passed on to someone." Harry explained to Neville about what he'd seen when exploring the upper floors of the castle. "And those rooms are really easy to find. I've charmed the hell out of my entrance, so I don't think that McGonagall will find the rooms so easily – and they could easily be lost in three years when we graduate. I think that we should gift the rooms to deserving lower years when we're ready to go, so that our rooms aren't lost from the castle, and our work isn't wasted." He shrugged. "Or the rooms have to be dismantled when we leave."

Neville easily agreed. "Now here's the hard part, Neville. I'm not going to set it up for you. I will, however, give you a copy of all the spells and rune sequences I found dealing with construction and remodeling. You do your own work, you live with the results. Deal?"

Neville nodded firmly. "Deal." He got up and paused in front of Harry. "Thanks. I know that you don't have to …"

Harry interrupted as he got up. "We're outcasts, Nev. We can't exactly stick together, but we can help each other out. I should have the copies in a few days. Is that soon enough?"

The other boy nodded, and they left the room, careful to depart in opposite directions. Harry (again with Luna's help) made a copy of that entire section of _The Book_ , and passed it to Neville that Thursday. He figured that Neville's robes would lose their red-and-gold within two weeks. Luna bet on one.

-o-

 **Saturday, October 28, 1995**

Harry continued to seek out Luna, sharing what he learned from _The Book_. He had worried a little about violating Pince's orders, but Luna had a simple solution. "She obviously trusted your judgement with both the care of _The Book_ and what is in _The Book_. I do, too. I'll only use what you teach me for what you allow. Does that help?" She blinked while looking up at him; she couldn't possibly know just what that did to Harry, and he found himself agreeing before his brain had actually engaged.

For her part, Luna continued to seek out Harry after each class and meal. She was not afraid to speak with him under the gaze of the rest of the school; Harry had caught several professors frowning at her as she continually walked with him between classes, and it seemed to mean little to her. Eventually Harry asked about it.

Luna laughed. "Harry, just by talking and walking with you, Ravenclaw house is leaving me alone! Your reputation is enough to make the entire house tread carefully around me."

Harry was puzzled. "Why?"

Luna stopped walking and turned to face him. "You really don't know?"

"Um, no, Luna. So suppose you tell me."

Luna smiled with a touch of smirk. "We're a knowledge seeking House, Harry. We keep records. Your file says you've killed a professor and were _awarded_ house points for it. You've killed _a twenty meter basilisk_ when you were twelve, with nothing but a sword. You've faced off against a _nest_ of sapient acromantulas. You've dispersed a _swarm_ of dementors using a spell that most _adults_ can't master. You've faced V-V-Voldemort" (Luna had a bit of trouble with the name, but didn't falter – Harry had to give her points for that), "at least _three_ times and killed him twice. You've snaked a house-elf away from the man at the center of our government's corruption – a man who is himself a consummate snake. The man that betrayed your parents was not a concern to you, even when he did the impossible and broke out of Azkaban to kill you. You befriend known werewolves, centaurs, giants, and hippogriffs – all classed at three-X levels or above."

Luna paused and went on with a gentler tone. "Cedric Diggory died in your presence during one of your encounters with V-Voldemort. There is a minority opinion that you might have done it, but most people suggest that you just … weren't able to save him." Harry nodded weakly. "Your activities are so deadly that just being around you can get the most capable student in Hogwarts killed. And now, you're so uncontrolled that you're using vengeful holy oaths to run off staff that disagree with you."

Harry objected, "She was trying to torture me! It wasn't …"

Luna reached up and placed her finger over his lips. "That is not in the dossier, Harry. I'm telling you what the House of Ravenclaw has written about you." Harry subsided, a little disgruntled. "The conclusion of the report says, and I quote: 'Very Dangerous, do not approach, 75% chance of serious injury or possible death each year. Best observed at a _considerable_ distance."

Harry smirked a little. That last line was a bit of an ego stroke for a fifteen year old male. "So what do they think about your little daredevil stunt of walking next to me?"

Luna smiled again, with even more of a smirk. "Oh, they're convinced that if they do something to attract your attention, you will accidently destroy them while plotting to take over the world."

Harry was puzzled. "Why would I want to take over the world? Do you have any idea how much work that would be? _I_ don't, but I'm sure it's more than I'm willing to do!"

Luna shrugged. "It seems to be a common assumption that powerful people want complete domination. But anyway, they seem to think that I'm under your protection now, and I haven't told them otherwise." She smiled naughtily. "It's fun to watch them swallow their insults."

"You can't ever tell them otherwise, Luna." Harry let her digest that before he continued. "That would be a lie. You _are_ under my protection now. You are a friend, and I will do anything I need to, to protect my friends."

Luna's smile was enormous, and lasted at least through the next two classes and dinner. She might have twigged that Harry knew how strongly she reacted to being called his friend, but she gave no notice. _Maybe because she wants me to continue?_


	6. Transmitted Insanity

**Chapter 6: Transmitted Insanity**

 **Sunday, October 29, 1995**

It was two days before Halloween when Harry found why _The Book_ had been included in his research list. Luna had suggested changing his focus to the Pince book, as that might have ways to make searching _The Book_ easier. Making his way through Pince, he found a spell that would search a book for a specific word – Harry had to go through quite a list of search words and results before he found the pages he wanted.

 _How to Commune With Heavenly Courts_ was the heading, and it was a ritual that occupied several pages. Harry studied them, and found most of the entry was commentary and explanation, with the ritual itself covered in only a few small paragraphs.

Unlike many of the other rituals Harry had looked through, this one had no preferred date, phases of the moon, or other auspicious times for completion – and by the same token, there weren't any contraindicated dates or conditions, either. The required preparations were slight, minimal, and at the same time, extremely difficult.

Which made sense, because getting ready to talk with an angel might be the daftest thing Harry had ever attempted. And _that_ was saying something.

Harry looked over the required (and the optional recommended) preparations. _I'll try them all – it can't hurt, and I need all the help I can get_. First things first; diet. Harry spoke aloud at a conversational volume. "I would like to discuss my meal requirements with a house-elf." He was hoping that he would get to talk to a calm one. What he got was Dobby popping in to Harry's private study.

"Dobby is serving the Great Harry Potter Sir!"

Harry sighed. _So this is where he ended up – I thought he moved on after last year_. "Dobby, I need to change the kinds of food that I get for meals. What can you tell me about how the food is prepared?"

The enthusiasm was wearying to experience. "Dobby can tell the Great Harry Potter Sir alls about the food!"

"Well, I need to know about how the meat is obtained and butchered…"

After an exasperating session of twenty questions (that incorporated _many_ more than twenty), Harry had a basic diet plan worked out; heavy on the plants, with a bit of cruelty-free protein, and the occasional carb indulgence. Portions were reasonable (for a wizard, at least), but not excessive, and treats were completely excluded. Dobby agreed to take over preparing all the food for 'the Great Harry Potter Sir'.

Harry sighed internally. _This is going to hurt_. Mentally bracing himself, Harry asked, "How are you doing, Dobby? Is there anything that I can do for you?"

The gushing praise and paroxysms of joy washed over Harry, and when Dobby had settled down again, the little guy said, "Dobby likes working at Hoggywarts, he does! But …" and then burst into tears.

Calming the house elf took some time (and patience that Harry was surprised that he could muster), but eventually the tears ceased, and Harry was treated to a little lecture on the basic desires of the house-elf species. Their basic craving was for service to a magical being – all other necessities could be taken care of through that (although it wasn't clear if that was an actual need.) And while Hogwarts allowed a great number of house elves to survive in service to the students and staff, Dobby felt he wasn't able to serve enough at the school. In short, Dobby wanted if not needed a Master, and he felt _starving_.

Harry nodded as Dobby talked, rubbing his chin thoughtfully as he sat on the floor in his study room. At last, Dobby ran out of steam (and it was a long, winding, elliptical explanation), and Harry thought a bit. He asked, "Are there any other house elves that have the same problem?"

Dobby shook his head. "Dobby does not know. It is not right for elves to complain, sir. Even to other elves."

Harry nodded firmly. "I understand. I want to make it clear to you that you are not complaining. I asked for a complete report on your working conditions, and you answered me, as completely as you possibly could, just like a good house-elf should." Dobby straightened his posture, a trace of unease leaving him. "And now you are going to teach me how to bond a house-elf to my service, and you are going to tell me how many house-elves I can comfortably support."

Dobby's eyes grew wide, and Harry braced himself for the emotional gushing. He was not disappointed. But at the end, Dobby guided Harry though the procedure, which incidentally bonded Dobby to Harry.

Harry admired the sneaky way Dobby arranged to get the bonding he wanted. Dobby was, after all, the person that was willing to try Grievous Bodily Harm as a sufficient motivation to get Harry to leave Hogwarts. More than a little over the top, true, but …

… Harry realized that Dobby's mayhem actually hadn't driven him from the castle, and wondered if Dobby should perhaps step up his game.

Harry almost slapped himself. _Bad thoughts, bad thoughts! Do_ _ **not**_ _encourage Dobby!_

His attention snapped back to the sneaky and deadly servant before him to hear, "… and the Great Harry Potter Sir could have many lots more elves, but the Great Harry Potter Sir would not be able to do magic with his wand." Long pause. "And lots after that before maybe Her Owlness would have to go away." _So, many more than a handful before it affects my magic._

Hmm. "Dobby, are there any other elves in the castle that need a bond soon?"

"There is one that is very sad," Dobby said cautiously.

"Would bonding another elf make a big difference in my magic?"

"Oh, noes! It would take a lot of lots more elvsies to make the Great Harry Potter Sir's magic go away!" _Hmm. So, safe so far? Like I thought._

"Can you bring that elf to me so we can talk about bonding?"

Dobby was instantly gone with a muffled pop. Three heartbeats later, another muffled pop brought Dobby back, along with a small elf that looked somewhat familiar to Harry. The new elf was dressed in a dirty tablecloth, tied around the waist with a filthy drapery cord, and was swaying visibly. The incompletely repressed hiccup confirmed to Harry that this elf was, to put it delicately, blotto. _The bloodshot eyes were a bit of a giveaway, too._

"Winky is disgraced elf. Former Master and Former Young Master does throw Winky away. Why does Harry Potter Sir want to talk with Winky?"

 _So all house elves talk like that. Great._

"Harry Potter S… – um, _I_ wanted to know if you would like to bond with me. I don't have a lot of work for you to do by myself, but in the future …"

"But Winky is disgraced elf! She is not wanted! Why…"

Harry tried to cut the discussion short, and knelt in front of Winky, putting his hand on her shoulder. Her reaction was to stiffen, and look frantically out of the corner of her eyes toward Dobby, who looked a bit smug.

"Winky, I was there. I remember. You think that you did something wrong. I think that your former master did something wrong instead. But what happened doesn't matter. I know that you are a good elf that keeps your master's secrets, and I want you to be part of my family. Will you bond with me?"

Absolute stillness. Winky slowly turned her bulbous eyes to Dobby, who smirked wider. "Dobby _told_ Winky. Dobby hurt the Great Harry Potter Sir _really bad_ , and the Great Harry Potter Sir _still_ wanted to bond Dobby! The Great Harry Potter Sir wants Dobby to be happy and powerful!" Dobby lowered his voice to an attempted whisper. "The Great Harry Potter Sir is not right in the head, so Dobby is trying to keep the Great Harry Potter Sir from being Crazy Eddie. But Dobby is needing help … and maybe if Winky is still being drunk but before throwing up, maybe Winky will be making baby elves with Dobby!"

The Great Harry Potter Sir- _gah_ , Harry thought, _it's catching_ – was getting a headache from all the capitals in Dobby's speech, but … Winky was eyeing Dobby speculatively. She whispered back, "Maybe Winky not needing to get throw up drunk to make babies with Dobby." Harry snorted, and had to actively suppress his giggles at this declaration of house-elf love. But …

"Dobby, what is Crazy Eddie? No wait – first, Winky, do you want to bond with me?"

Winky slowly nodded. "Great! Let's do that now," and Dobby led the two through a repeat of the quick ritual. "Ok, first thing you need to do as members of the Potter family." Harry looked at the both of them. "The two of you are very important parts of the family. Very important parts of the family are to be protected. So don't hurt yourselves, and try to be as healthy and as powerful as you can. Got it?" asked Harry.

Both elves nodded. _And I never want to hear about house elf romance again_.

"Okay, so tell me about Crazy Eddie."

Winky explained that Eddie was a house elf character in stories used to teach little house elves. Eddie always got everything wrong, and died at the end of every story. Harry thought back to one of the few stories that he was allowed to read in peace during his abusive childhood. _Almost as if_ _Amelia Bedelia was suicidal as well as obsessive-compulsive._

"So, he's the ultimate bad example. Got it. Okay, back to the food." Harry and Dobby brought Winky up to speed on Harry's new dietary requirements, and Winky joined Harry's bespoke kitchen staff. Winky also demanded to join Dobby in all of Harry's other needs – shopping errands, laundry, acting as lookout for "after-hours meetings with Miss Lovey-goody…"

Harry rolled his eyes. _What do I do with people that are more sexually mature than I am while having less discretion than a four-year-old?_

He tried. He really did. But it was impossible to convince Winky that he wasn't seeking to impregnate Miss Lovegood, especially as she (Winky) was rooting for three babies before Harry turned twenty. Dobby expressed doubts about Harry's intentions, suggesting that Luna was already willing, and that Harry was the one not stepping up to the plate, as it were. "Maybe the Great Harry Potter Sir is liking girly-boys like Old Bad Young Master?"

Harry almost swallowed his tongue.

Winky had to chime in, "Or maybe Good Master Harry Potter Sir is wanting to punish a naughtiness Hoggywarts girl with a tight shirtsies with bursting buttons and …"

"STOP!" Both of the house-elves looked at Harry with wide … well, wider than normal eyes. Harry's eyes were quite large at the moment, too. Harry massaged his forehead for a moment, then slowly said, "My relationship with Luna Lovegood is doing quite well. I am not interested in," he hesitated, "girly-boys or," another hesitation (and a wince), "a naughtiness Hoggywarts girl." Harry shook his head to clear it. "I mean, Hogwarts girl."

Harry tried not to hesitate any longer, and plunged forward. "If I survive so that I can grow up to be an adult, _at that point_ I will – I hope – be able to get married and have a family. Until then, I have more urgent things to worry about, and _we_ ," Harry gestured to include both elves and himself, "have a lot of work to do." That was the magic phrase (so to speak), as the elves settled down to take direction. "The biggest problem I have right now is that I don't know exactly what we need to do. Until I figure that out – and I _am_ trying – then we have to make sure that I do well in all the regular responsibilities I have." Harry pointed out _The Book_ on his study table. "The only clue I have is that there is something in this book that will help me figure out what to do, and so I have to have time to read through this. Just … keep these rooms clean and private, and I'll let you know as soon as I figure out what the next step is."

Both elves nodded. It was later that he realized that house-elves should come with a manual.

And maybe earplugs. Harry never did decide if the earplugs would be for himself or for them, but he knew that in a _sane_ household, one of the two needed to not hear what the other was saying.

-o-

 **Monday, October 30, 1995**

After lunch, Luna and Harry both slipped into Harry's study. Harry began by apologizing, as he just knew that Winky would be making an appearance and would severely embarrass Luna with some innuendo that wasn't veiled at all.

Luna laughed it off, "Harry, house elves live for work and their families. They are usually more excited for a new baby than the mother is. Don't worry about it." Her mouth twitched. "I could tell her that I'm not interested, but then Winky would start matchmaking for you…" Luna trailed off in deep belly laughs as Harry's eyebrows attempted to climb up his skull, and his eyes had the most amazing look of horror.

As Harry calmed down, he turned the conversation to his research. "In this bestiary, the author says that angels are fantastic winged creatures that come in several varieties, but your account has angels, Nephilim, and the Fallen as human-type beings. What should I expect, do you think?"

Luna reached over to Harry's reference book and snorted as she read the cover. "Claire? Cassandra Claire is a fraud. If she doesn't know, or what she knows isn't 'exciting' enough, she will write whatever makes her money. Based on some of the other things she's written, she likely thinks that Draco is redeemable, just misunderstood, and would look good in leather pants." Luna pushed the book away with disgust as Harry fell off the couch, laughing. Apparently, nothing hacked off Luna like dishonest reporting about magizoology.

As Harry slowly tapered off his laughing fit, he caught Luna's eye roll. "Leather … _pants_?" and began all over again.

After Harry sobered up – and it took a while – Harry got out the list of ritual preparations that he intended to complete. As she had promised, Luna was interested in helping him; plan for rituals or knocking over Gringott's, it seemed that it made no difference to her. (Although Harry was a little interested in how Luna would approach a robbery …)

"This potions purge needs to be finished as soon as you can do it, Harry," she stated somewhat authoritatively.

"Why's that?" Harry asked. Luna's attempt at being focused really attracted Harry's attention.

"There's going to be some recovery time afterwards, and you need as much time as possible for it. The sooner you get started, the sooner you can actually do the ritual. If you put it off, the ritual gets put off, too." Then Luna started talking to Harry about his "critical path", and totally lost him.

"Anyway," said Harry, after they had gotten past that quagmire, "I should eat only what I really need – no excessive portions, no indulgent foods. I need to remove my dependencies and addictions, so," Harry sighed, "no treacle tarts and no potion residues. And I should be exercising a bit more to take care of my body."

Luna nodded. "That takes care of the highlights for the physical preparations. Do you have a plan for magical preparations?"

"Um … no," Harry admitted.

"Well, the guidelines are 'to remove outside influences and present yourself in a calm and receptive state.' So … no active charms, for one." Luna wrote that down on her list.

"How about my clothing? How do we get rid of magical influence there?"

"You'll need a completely non-magical outfit, Harry. Everything sold in Diagon Alley has been made with magical methods, and that will leave traces." Luna absentmindedly answered as she read through the ritual design again.

Harry thought a moment. "How about magical travel? Can I get Dobby to get me the clothes and bring it back to Hogwarts for me?"

Luna looked up and pondered a moment. "Yes, that should work. And removing potions will do double duty for this part as well."

"Is that it?" Harry sked. Luna nodded in response. "So what about a spiritual cleanse?"

"That's … very personal, Harry," Luna said slowly. "You should complete your preparations in the spiritual realm in whatever way you think is proper, as long as it leaves you open for whatever you get told." She gathered her papers and books together. "I've got class in fifteen minutes; I really have to get going. After dinner?" Harry nodded and began collecting his books, too. Luna waved a hasty goodbye, and Harry followed her out the door shortly thereafter.

-o-

Harry returned from afternoon classes to find his study desk piled high with parchment – documents and scrolls that he hadn't left out. Dobby and Winky both popped in and added two more scrolls each as Harry watched.

"Um … guys, what's this?"

Dobby immediately launched into an explanation with his customary enthusiasm. "Master Harry Potter Sir is needed to do homywork assignments, but also needing to read the biggest book." (Harry allowed as how that was a perfectly reasonable descriptor.) "So hard working elves be getting best homywork from other peoples and copying them for Master Harry Potter Sir!"

Harry looked at the pile of scrolls and parchments. It would take more time to read them than just to do the homework himself. He shook himself out of wool gathering.

"That's … a lot of homework, guys. Who did all these?"

Winky took up the tale, "These is bestest homyworks that Hoggywarts keeps. Wes copies them for our Master sos Master can copies them for Proffessies."

 _Hmm. Too many to read_. "Ok. That's a good idea, but we need to narrow them down." Harry clapped his hands and rubbed them together. "First, I have only three assignments to do. Anything that does not answer those three assignments in Charms, Transfiguration, and Astronomy should go. Next, I only want to look at essays that were handed in to the teachers I have; anything written for a different teacher may not get me top marks." The elves were very appreciative of that 'tricksy' thinking.

Harry continued, "And after all those have been removed, count them; if there are more than three essays per subject to choose from, pull out the longest until there are only three left."

Winky, then Dobby, turned to face the overloaded table. Both concentrated in a frown, snapped their fingers (at almost the same instant – it sounded like a particularly strong echo), and there were three piles left, with three parchments in each stack. Harry figured that the small stacks were the concentrated, distilled essence of Outstandings, and got to work. _Really_ , he mused, _it's just that I was lucky enough to get research sources that were specifically targeted to the questions I had to answer._

Homework time dropped to about one fourth what it used to be. Harry continued to use this approach, sometimes keeping the longest essays to vary things a bit. _Those_ essays, he noted, almost always included the name Granger. Which opened the question of how the elves were getting these essays, but Harry very carefully did not ask.

While ignorance can get you killed, knowledge can get you tagged as an _accomplice_.


	7. Boundaries

**Chapter 7: Boundaries**

 **Tuesday, October 31, 1995**

Harry noticed that the wall's color scheme for the day was a dark gray and faded orange. _Somewhat appropriate, but not too obnoxious_. The day was cursed. Harry knew it – the entire school knew it. All Hallow's Eve was the day that Harry's life got screwed up.

Well, not first year – that day was a threat to Hermioneeee … _Oh, shit_. Harry shook his head; denial was very attractive, but could be fatal in his case. _If every case but one is in line with a trend, perhaps the exception is part of the trend, too?_ Every Halloween was a threat to Harry's life in the wizarding world. Even the one where Harry was meant to die protecting a classmate he didn't know.

So what was it about Halloween….?

This kind of … scheduled threat … wasn't something that anyone else had to deal with; what was unique about Harry that made him... _Nevermind_. The main thing was obvious without even having to finish the sentence.

The-Boy-Who-Lived.

And whenever Harry was surrounded by magic, on the day that the afterlife became closest to the living world … it tried to reach out and grab him.

 _OK, my life officially just plain_ sucks.

Harry decided that he wasn't going anywhere. He had Dobby bring meals to his rooms. He was exceptionally careful when turning on the hot water for a shower. _Was it getting hotter on its own?_ The soap was carefully put out of reach, the stone floors were covered with a non-slip bathmat on top of Harry's psychedelically flashing non-slip floor polish, Harry's tie was staying on the peg in his wardrobe (not putting a noose around his neck voluntarily, _thankyou_ _ **very**_ _much_.)

Carefully walking to his study table, Harry inspected breakfast, which was waiting under a warming charm, and then ate it. Taking small bites; it wouldn't do to tempt fate today, after all.

Harry read – and he couldn't remember what book was in his hands to save his life – and Harry waited. Just after lunch, Luna bounced into Harry's study, causing him to almost levitate out of his seat on the couch. After Harry's startle reflex had died down, Luna asked what was bothering him.

"It's the holiday. Every year since I started at Hogwarts, Halloween has been a deadly threat to my life. I'm scared about what today will bring."

Luna pulled a chair to sit in front of Harry. "You told me about your first year. Why do you think that an accident that involved Hermione was targeted at you?"

Harry recounted his train of thought, that a lone exception was more likely a well-disguised attack on his life; it was, after all, a deadly attack.

Luna sat back, chin in her hand, musing about Harry's life. "Do you really think that the impersonal forces of Death and Fate are going to completely discount Hermione's own fate, and possibly kill her just to get at you? When they could easily have you crushed by a falling castle wall? Or killed by a rampaging CoMC subject?"

Harry felt quite foolish. "Umm, no, I guess."

Luna continued to pick apart Harry's theory. "My first year had the first basilisk attack on Halloween. Were you threatened at all?"

"No." Harry was quieter than before.

"And the danger wasn't imminent until you deliberately went after the snake yourself. The next year, you were never targeted by Sirius Black, no matter that The Prophet said, so the actual danger came from dementors. Did you face any on Halloween that year?"

"No," Harry admitted. He leaned back and looked up at the ceiling. "Sirius Black broke into Hogwarts, but no dementors that day."

"So that's three Halloweens without a personal threat. And last year, your name came out of the Goblet of Fire, right?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "You were there. You know what happened."

Luna continued, a little primly, "And what happened is that the tournament contestants were selected. Your life wasn't threatened until the first task. While the plans to take your life were put in motion, your life was still safe on Halloween."

Harry let out a large sigh. "Okay, so maybe I'm not really in danger today."

Luna got up from her chair, stepped to Harry's side, and sat across his lap. With her arms over his shoulders, she said, "But you do feel threatened. You feel like you need to hide. It's okay, Harry. I can keep the wrackspurts away for now." She held him tighter, drawing his head into her shoulder. Harry trembled a little at the demonstration of how much Luna cared.

After the tension between his shoulders and in his heart had eased, Harry became aware of how his left ear felt … wet. Withdrawing from Luna's embrace slowly, he saw her face wet with tears, even while her smile was undimmed.

"Luna, what's wrong?"

She shook her head firmly. "Nothing."

With Luna on his lap, she was a little taller than him, so Harry gently pulled her chin down and around so that he could look her in the eyes. "Luna, you shared my worries and made them better. I'd like to do the same for you. Please talk to me."

Luna sniffed a little, hesitating. Harry kept eyes contact, patiently waiting for Luna to unburden herself. Finally, she said, "I'm just happy, Harry. Being a friend isn't just about having someone that will take care of you. It's also about being able to take care of them in return. I'm able to do something for you that no one else will. In your life, I'm … _wanted_."

Harry smiled and sighed. "Ok, but you have to stop crying because you're happy. That's just too confusing – I know what to do when you're sad, and I love to see you smile, but the two together?" He shook his head. "Just can't handle it."

Luna smiled at his pretend cluelessness ( _As long as she doesn't know how true that is_ ), and they cuddled until it was time for dinner. "Harry, are you going to the feast?"

Harry closed his eyes in thought momentarily. "I think so," he decided. "I'm not going to run any more. There really isn't anything to run _from_."

At the Halloween feast in the Great Hall, the most interesting thing that Harry saw was Neville. He was sitting at the end of the Gryffindor tables, alone even though he was surrounded by 'friends'. His robes were black, with no color trim, and his tie was a faded black as well. Harry cocked his head and smirked at Mr. Longbottom; Neville turned, caught his eye, and smirked back. _That's two._ He turned to regard Luna at his side. _Maybe three._

-o-

 **Friday, November 3, 1995**

"Harry, where have you been!" Hermione had just burst into his study carrel in the library. Harry was (still) paging through the immense Spells and Rituals compendium, currently deep into the section on time-delayed livestock feeding charms. Dobby and Winky wanted to deep clean and rearrange the furniture in Harry's private study room, so he was stuck in public places … and Hermione had just demonstrated why Harry was trying to avoid them.

Harry sat back and rubbed his eyes under his glasses. "Here, obviously."

Hermione was not amused, and vastly impatient. "No, Harry, you haven't been in the dorms for at least a week. Where have you been?!"

"And why is that business of yours?" Harry was still treating her as an interruption, and it wasn't sitting well with her.

"Because I'm your friend, Harry. Honestly!" she fumed.

 _Might as well get it over with_. "Hermione, if you want to discuss this, I require a magical oath that you will not attempt to communicate what I tell you to anyone else." Harry's voice was flat, and weary.

"Harry, don't you trust me?"

"Oath, or get out. I'm in the middle of something."

Hermione began to protest, and Harry turned back to the massive book laying on the table. He ignored – completely tuned out, in fact – all complaints, disapprovals, objections, and orders. He was prepared to ignore questions and pleadings, but those never appeared. After a minute or so of verbal abuse, Hermione paused for breath, and Harry repeated, "Oath, or get out." He added, "Last chance."

Hermione gulped – he could tell that she finally believed that he meant it – and produced her wand. "On my magic, I swear that I will not divulge the contents of this meeting to any individuals." The faint pulse of magic confirmed the oath, and Hermione sat in the study carrel's other chair.

"So what did you want to know?"

"Where have you been sleeping? You haven't been in the house dorms for a week."

"Seventeen days, actually."

"So where are you sleeping?"

"None of your business. Is there anything else?"

Hermione was showing signs of frustration – Harry knew that it was only a matter of time before she blew her top.

"Harry, why would you make me swear an oath?"

"OK then – how important are my friends to me?"

Hermione was a little confused by the apparent change of topic, but she gamely tried to follow. "You'll do anything for your friends."

"That is very true. And how do I know who my friends are?"

Hermione was very reluctant to answer. Finally she said softly, "By how they treat you?"

His voice sharpened. "If it was by the way they treat me, you would have proven to not be my friend. Regardless of what you may have read, people do not have the right to control their friends' lives. Friends _respect_ and _support_ each other's decisions – they do not _usurp_ them." Hermione winced with each emphasis in Harry's voice. "What I do on my own time is my business, and if I choose not to share it with you, you are _not_ entitled to know." And then he added, "And verbally abusing me for not letting you violate my personal boundaries really shows just where you stand on supporting me like a _friend_ should." Harry shook his head and dampened down the accusation in his tone. "But how I tell who my friends are is by _loyalty_ and _commitment_. When you had to choose, you chose the approval of the crowd instead of the approval of the Potter." The corner of Harry's mouth turned up a little at his turn of phrase. "As my last act of friendship to you, I gave you what you wanted. But we are no longer friends. Just like you desired." _And just like you demonstrated_.

Hermione began to breathe faster, and her eyes were a little wider, "No, Harry! You have to… I mean, you can't just …"

Harry put his hand on her wrist in an attempt to calm her a little. "Hermione, house-elves drive you crazy because they accept orders and you think they shouldn't have to. I don't _have_ to do anything – but if I did, would you fight for my freedom the way you do for theirs?"

Hermione's posture crumbled, and she collapsed back into her chair.

"And for the record, I know you didn't swear to keep my secrets from groups, but groups are composed of individuals – that is not a loophole, and if you try it, you'll lose your magic. And in the context of the oath, talking to a single individual isn't a loophole either. Don't try it; I have no desire to see you as a squib."

Harry stood up, quietly shrunk _The Book_ , and stowed it in his bookbag. As he packed, he said, "One more thing for you to consider. I don't want to follow Dumbledore's orders any more. Nor McGonagall's. Do _you_ – the crusader for freedom for other species – believe that I, of your own species, have to give up my personal freedom just because an old man thinks he can use my life to benefit himself?"

Rousing herself, Hermione said, "But it's not just himself, there's a lot of …"

Harry interrupted to say, "Does it really matter how many?" And with that, he closed the door, leaving Hermione Granger to her existential wrestling match.

Harry never went back to the study carrels.

-o-

 **Saturday, November 4, 1995**

Harry walked in to the Infirmary, a little sheepishly as this was the first time in five years his presence was voluntary. _Wait – nope, there was visiting Hermione three years ago_. He glanced over to make sure that nobody was in 'his' bed – he just might need it this year, after all. Nope, all clear.

Madame Pomfrey bustled out of the back room she used for her office. "What is the problem, Mr. Potter?"

Harry held his hand out to his sides. "I have an … issue … that has been bothering me. Not medical," he added hastily, upon realizing how that sounded. "I was wondering how to get any residual potions out of my system."

Madame Pomfrey's clouded expression cleared as Harry explained, and she told him, "There are special purging formulas that will bind with and eliminate all potions in your system. But with all the treatments that you've had since attending Hogwarts, those treatments are still active in your system, although very low, and are keeping you healthy. A purging regimen is definitely not recommended for you, Mr. Potter."

Harry thought for a moment. "So, let's pretend that I need your professional services next week." Both student and Healer smirked a little at that – both knew that Harry would inevitably end up back in the ward. "Don't you have to take into account all the other treatments I've had while fixing the current problem?"

Poppy considered, "Yes, that's true, I suppose. But removing the current potions, weak though they are, means that your system will lose the support it has become accustomed to, and the potion _interactions_ that your system has adjusted to. Just off the top of my head, from what _I've_ given you in the past – what, four years? – your magical core might become weaker and will definitely drain, and your bones will ache and possibly become more fragile. I'd expect your emotional state to swing wildly, and your skin might possibly show scars that had previously disappeared." She shook her head. "You are currently healthy. Removing the support for your health would be very foolish, Mr. Potter."

Harry smiled gently. _What you described is not health. It is only the_ appearance _of health, created by residual potions. I want to become_ actually _healthy_. He stopped for a moment and looked at Madame Pomfrey steadily. "Are there any other reasons I should avoid purging potions?"

She met his gaze squarely and said, "No, Mr. Potter. If you take them, you will be worse off. I cannot support that for a patient."

Harry pursed his lips a bit. "Hmm. Ok, then. I will not ask you to do something you are opposed to. Thank you for your time." Madame Pomfrey nodded and made her way back to her office, straightening cupboards as she went.

Outside the entrance to the hospital wing, Harry found an unoccupied nook. "Winky, I'd like to talk to you," he called softly.

Winky appeared with a muffled 'pop'. "What can Winky do for Great Master Harry Potter Sir?"

"You know where I keep my vault key. Retrieve it, and find a shop that sells a general potion purging regimen. Use the money you withdraw from Gringotts to purchase a course of potions elimination for me. Oh, and make sure that the shop has a good reputation for quality potions. I'm willing to pay more for guaranteed quality. The potions you buy should be put in my study. OK?"

"Yes, Great Master Harry Potter Sir."

As she popped away, Harry said, "And get instructions for how they are to be used!"

"Ah, well," he muttered. "There's got to be instructions someplace."


	8. Proffered Truce

**Chapter 8: Proffered Truce**

 **Sunday, November 5, 1995**

Instructions were, indeed, someplace. In several books found in the Hogwarts library, for instance. And all of them unanimously advised, "If the patient is not currently under the influence of a mind or personality altering potion, a flushing treatment can only have adverse effects. Even if an unknown potion must be counteracted, the likely results of removing all extant beneficial treatments is very damaging. When a mind or emotion altering potion is present, a flushing treatment must be administered carefully, as the abrupt change in internal state is extremely disorienting and can cause prolonged depression and self-doubt."

Harry disregarded those statements, preferring to charge ahead with his plans. Luna, however, was rapidly becoming his indispensable confidant. _And comfort_ , the back of his mind whispered. She counselled that Harry look into what the effects would be, prepare for them, and then – and only then – take the anti-potion. _Nah._ With a determined grimace, Harry unstopped the flask and downed the contents in one long pull.

Within a (long) blink, Harry was sitting on the loo – now _that_ was a frantic few moments. The wall opposite was covered in some amazing … _Carrots? I didn't even_ _ **eat**_ _carrots._ His skin was oozing a bit – well, each little patch of skin was oozing a little, but all of his skin was oozing. It was uncomfortable. And incredibly smelly.

And Harry was suddenly ravenously thirsty.

Harry wanted to summon Winky, but the constant flow of food up his throat made speaking (or croaking) difficult. With a 'pop', Winky appeared anyway.

"Master Harry Potter Sir is being messy. I's being fixing mess. Dobby being fixing Master Harry Potter Sir."

The mad house elf popped in as well, and with a snap of his fingers, Harry was clean and … empty. It didn't stop him from wanting to … evacuate … from either end, though. _Painful_. With another 'pop', Harry was on a low cot in his bedroom and dressed in something that approximated adult diapers. Harry had the vague feeling that he should be embarrassed or insulted, but under a sudden and irresistible wave of pain and cramps and tiredness, he simply didn't care anymore.

A sipping gesture to Dobby was correctly interpreted, and an ever full glass of cool water was by his cot, complete with straw. _Not plastic – what is it?_ When Winky popped in to take her vigil at the other side of the bed, the arrangements made sense to Harry's distracted brain; he was put in a place for the convenience of the house elves, instead of in his bed.

 _Whups – water coming up_. The urge to vomit was lessening, as were the stomach cramps. Harry found that this was a good time to not be here, and consciousness fled.

-o-

He awoke slowly, with tremors in all four limbs. Luna was in an overstuffed high backed armchair, reading a book with her legs drawn up under herself. Harry smiled weakly at the sight. He whispered, "So what time is it?"

Luna answered absently, "An hour and a half to dinner. You may have left Gryffindor, but it hasn't left you." Her gaze turned to capture Harry. "You need to fix that."

Harry meekly said, "Right-o," and let his head drop back down to his pillow.

Luna placed a bookmark in her book, closed it, and said, "I've entrusted you with the care of my only friend, Harry. I _expected_ that you would take better care of him."

Harry tried to deflect Luna. "I'm a bit weak, now. Could this wait until I'm not in danger of passing out?"

"No." Luna was uncompromising, which startled Harry a bit. Well, as much as he was capable of recognizing at the moment. She went on, "You are showing more scars than I've ever seen. Your bones are probably weak, possibly brittle. I've watched you as you sleep, and your emotions are swinging wildly, from euphoria to rage to despair to panic." She eyed Harry coolly. "There have also been a few instances of near-uncontrolled magic in the last hour. You've obviously been dosed with calming potions and magical rejuvenation potions in the past, and have been relying on them for internal regulation." She sighed, and came over to crouch at his side. "Harry, I'm a Ravenclaw. I don't deal with improvised planning very well. I need to be prepared before you pull something so completely stupid." Luna leaned over and kissed Harry's forehead.

She grimaced. "And I don't think that I want to do that again. You really need to bathe."

Harry smiled, and suppressed a giggle. _Maybe she's right about the swinging moods_. "I'm not completely unprepared, Luna."

Harry switched his attention to the elves, standing and trying to be unnoticed next to the doorway. "Dobby, please take my vault key and get 10 Galleons from my vault. Have Gringott's exchange them for Muggle currency. Find a muggle shop called a Chemists, or a pharmacy. If you can't locate one quickly, find one with a sign showing the letters T, E, S, C, and O."

Dobby broke in, "Dobby knows Tesco, Master Harry Potter Sir. Tesco has house elf store, but nasty Former Master never knows that his food be coming from Muggles."

Harry grinned weakly, "That's great, Dobby. Please go get two bottles of something called Nurofen." Harry spelled it, and had Dobby repeat it back. "Luna, is there anything else that a Muggle store would have that he should get?" Luna shook her head.

"Ok then, Dobby. Please get that back to me as soon as you can safely do so."

"Master Harry Potter Sir?"

Harry suppressed a sigh, "Yes, Dobby?"

"The Tesco House Elf store takes Galleons, not muggle moneys."

"Okay then, don't have Gringott's change the money into muggle money."

The Nurofen worked wonders for Harry; ninety seconds after taking it, he was back to being unconscious.

-o-

Harry woke that day for the third time, relatively pain free and feeling …. comfortable, to his surprise. Winky informed him that, "Master Harry Potter Sir is missing dinner, and Master Harry Potter Sir must not be skipping meals any mores, sir."

Harry acknowledged the admonishment with, "Thank you, Winky. Would it be too much trouble to have some food served here?"

Winky's look at Harry crossed species boundaries and said, plain as day, "It's already taken care of, you moron, sir." Harry was quickly eating a veggie-heavy selection of what was obviously the leftovers from the evening's meal in the Great Hall.

Each of the houses seemed to favor a different cuisine. The Hufflepuff table (easy to tell by the yellow house-themed crockery) was heavy on the comfort foods; lots of breads, sweets, and starches, the potato dishes featuring creams and cheeses. The Ravenclaws (with the cream and cobalt blue bowls and platters) had light, simple fare that weighed heavily on the seafood side of the scale, with no sauces or bright flavors. They seemed to use rice as their main grain, and the vegetables were green, foreign, and subtly flavored. The Gryffindor's palate was what Harry was used to, and those dishes were easy to pick out by the heavy use of spices and herbs on meat; subtle wasn't a Gryffindor trait in food, either, apparently. (Nor in their crockery – the bright red was a significant tip-off.) The absence of anything resembling a vegetable was a heavy clue as well. And the remaining dishes in deep green must have come from the Slytherin table – and these foods were perfection on the tongue. Tender meats that nailed the medium rare sweet spot; bright green vegetables that were hot, crisp, and flavorful; salads that presented varieties of flavors and textures without being soggy; pastas with subtle flavors and delicate sauces; breads that while being hearty and robust, were still refined and easy on the palate. The variety was also amazing; beans, of course, along with lettuce, cucumbers, eggplant, peppers in all their colors, tomatoes, melons, squash, zucchini, apples, pears, broccoli, cauliflower, berries, apricots, mangoes, not to mention some of the more exotic fruits and veggies that were completely foreign to Harry – but that he wanted to get to know _much_ better. It was incredible.

The Slytherin table fare was a revelation to Harry. "Hey, Winky, can I get food prepared like the Slytherin dishes?"

"Of course, Master Harry Potter Sir. Does Master Harry Potter Sir want to stay with the food restrictions that he had before?"

Harry pushed his pate away, completely sated but not overfull. "Yes, I believe that Master Harry Potter does." And Harry was asleep.

-o-

 **Monday, November 6, 1995**

Harry had awoken early, and now stood before his mirror in the bath. For the first time in eight days, he had slept well – between Voldemort's evening celebrations and Harry's own impulsive actions, sleep had been hard to come by for a while. Harry was still feeling emotionally unsettled from the absence of potions in his system; Luna's analysis was spot on when it came to Harry's internal state. His face hadn't changed from yesterday's removal of potions, but the effects were starkly visible on his arms, torso, and legs. Pink, almost-new scars were on his upper torso and arms, and it seemed like they would stay that way for quite a while before they faded into background noise like his other markings. His body ached, most especially his joints, but the Nurofen helped keep that manageable.

Harry's legs and arms seemed to be weaker, now; he could see himself visibly swaying in the mirror. Just brushing his shoulder up against the wall resulted in the pain that comes from poking a bruise – while he didn't see any bruise marks on his skin, there wasn't a place on his body that didn't react as if it was freshly pulped.

The pain and balance issues made getting dressed a bit difficult, but Harry was determined. Once back in his bedroom and dressed, Harry called out, "Dobby, I seem to need a cane. Is there one available?"

Dobby had popped in before the first sentence had completed. "Dobby can makes cane for Master Harry Potter Sir! Does Master want a tricksy hidden sword? Maybe bottom spikes that fly out like metal spells? And can Dobby add House crest to pommel?"

 _Oh, right. Old Man Malfoy had a cane_. _Dobby is an_ _ **enthusiast**_. "Dobby, let's just go with a nice hardwood cane, and once I get the length and handle right, we can add all the stuff you want."

Promising a complex and specialized task to serve the head of his new house was exactly what Dobby craved. His eyes widened, and then he almost exploded in a flurry of efficient actions. Harry's limbs and joints were manipulated and measured; Harry let out a small "Eep!" at each inseam measurement (one for each side), although he would forever deny it. After an interminable few minutes, the whirlwind ceased, and Dobby stood in front of Harry with a dark brown cane laid across both hands.

"It being Borneo Rosewood, takes magic very well and is just right size for Master Harry Potter Sir's left hand. Dobby has five cane handles for Master to try."

Dobby handed the cane body to Harry and produced five handles that would screw into the top of the wood. "This being a matching derby handle," and he handed the traditional handle off to Harry, "and this being Dobby's try at a palm grip handle," and Dobby handed the odd-shaped lump to Harry again, "and these being special knob handles with Master Harry Potter Sir's crest." Dobby held them up, one by one, and Harry held back a grimace at the flashy red gem the size of a large doorknob. The white ball with the Gryffindor crest was right out as well (for what Harry thought were obvious reasons), but that last one …

"Dobby, what is the black crystal there?"

Dobby beamed. "It being a magic storage crystal. When Master has put magic into crystal, magic can be taked out when Master Harry Potter Sir be needing it." Harry took it and held it in his palm – the crystal was cold to the touch, and the edges felt sharp, even though they were fairly oblique angles. Harry handed it back to Dobby slowly; it felt wrong to add magical tricks and traps to his wardrobe. _I'm preparing to show myself as I really am, with no embellishments. Using this would be a lie, of sorts, and I suspect that could be punished. Harshly._

"Dobby, I think that I'll go with the first one." Dobby whipped the cane body out of Harry's hands, and had the derby handle attached in a trice. Harry took it back in his left hand, and used it to balance himself. _This feels good. It could stand to be a little taller, though_. "Did you plan on adding anything to the bottom?"

Dobby nodded vigorously, shaking his ears roundabout his head. "Dobby needs to be adding a foot for cane to be hitting ground. Wood is too nice to be banging into castle flagstones and not lasting long enough."

Harry held the cane in his hands, looking at the end. _This could get slippery_ … and then it came to him.

Harry met Dobby's gaze. "I want an end that looks like silver, but is made of very strong steel, to be screwed onto the wood. It should be about this long," and Harry gestured with his hands a little less than a foot apart. "And for the tip, I want you to find that floor polish that I made in Potions class. That should keep the cane from slipping."

Without breaking eye contact, Dobby raised his right hand and snapped his fingers. The cane shifted a bit in Harry's hands, the center of balance having changed. The bottom eight inches was a silvery steel, with a thin sheen of radioactive-green paste on the tip. "Perfect!" was Harry's verdict, and he immediately began to use it as he walked off to breakfast.

The students that saw Harry noticed the cane, but didn't comment on it. The staff had no reaction. Harry didn't notice the non-reaction from either group. He simply … didn't care.

-o-

Sitting in another useless DADA class, Harry was idly paging though his cowardly textbook ( _if nothing bad could happen, why are there so many directives to summon Aurors in case of danger?_ ). His thoughts, however, were on the ritual he was planning.

 _The physical cleansing is to … take care of myself, and be the best I can, without presenting an illusion. The magical cleansing is the same. So how do I translate that for my spiritual self?_

Harry let the idea ruminate inside him. Luna had refused to give him any pointers, saying that this ritual was about presenting him, as he was, to Heaven. If Luna directed Harry's actions, then Harry's actions would be tainted, and he would be presenting Luna's directives as his own ideas and actions: a lie. And the directions were quite emphatic about how lies were received; "… frequently fatal consequences …" went through Harry's mind.

 _So, I have to fix the problems I have been living with, the_ spiritual _problems. I have to shed the burdens that I've been carrying around. The_ spiritual _burdens_. Harry sighed. There was no help for it – Harry needed to resolve issues, anything that made him feel anxious, irritated, or hatred. He had to let it go.

Who to approach? The list slowly formed in his mind. Snape, Ron, Hermione, McGonagall, Draco, Seamus, Dean … Harry considered Dumbledore. Harry no longer felt animosity toward the idiot Headmaster, rather, he had become (at least in Harry's mind) an unpredictable obstacle to overcome. Nothing more, nothing less.

As class was dismissed, Harry put his already closed book away in his pack and limped out the classroom door. _Time's passing. Best get to it_. Harry sighed. This promised to be moderately unpleasant, at minimum.

-o-

Harry hurried through dinner. It was vastly disrespectful to the food he was served – and oh, did the Slytherin table rate respect! – but needs must, and all that. As it was, Harry was only waiting a scant few minutes before Draco exited the Great Hall.

"Mr. Malfoy, might I have a moment of your attention? I mean you no harm, and wish only to converse," Harry said, as politely as he could muster.

Draco looked around in alarm at Harry's approach: Draco was alone, and thus severely outnumbered, but Harry's polite entreaty gave the blond his confidence and arrogance back.

"I could be persuaded to…"

Harry approached closer. "Is there somewhere we could be undisturbed?" He kept his hands at his sides, in plain view, cane pointed down. Draco was already a bit … antsy … and needed the kid glove treatment.

Draco narrowed his eyes, and looked around to confirm that they were alone. Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. _He's dealt with me attacking while covered in my invisibility cloak before. Does he really think that I've got the only one? Or that I wouldn't lend it out?_ Well, Harry wouldn't lend it out to anyone now … except Luna …

"Follow me," said Draco. The usual sneer was present, but less strongly than normal, and Draco showed a bit of nervousness as well. They walked to a smallish room just outside (inside?) of the castle entrance. Draco said shortly, "What is it?"

Harry took a breath – mostly for courage. "We first met at MadameMalkin's. I was trying not to show that I was completely new to the wizarding world; I learned that magic existed less than twenty-four hours earlier." Draco gave a little start at that. "I'm pretty sure that I was inoffensive at that time – I was trying hard enough not to draw attention to myself. But the next time we met was on the Hogwarts Express. You came into my compartment, evidently looking for me, and insulted one of the first friends I ever made. You then all but ordered me to abandon him, and told me that Ron Weasley was not the right kind of person to associate with." As an aside, Harry went on, "That was good advice. Wish I'd listened." Draco gave another start at that admission.

Harry squared his shoulders; this was going to be the point where things could go … badly. "But over the years, I've become pretty sure that we're not going to be friends, no matter how badly I behaved before we were even sorted – and I'm sorry about that." He raised his eyebrow. "But I really don't think that you're suffering from the lack of my friendship, right?"

Draco snorted.

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "But I don't think that we automatically have to be at each other's throats all the time, either. Would you be willing to think about a truce?"

Draco's eyes narrowed. "What would your terms be?"

Harry shook his head. "No terms. Nothing formal. Just an understating between the two of us – I will wait until you attack to do anything to you. If you don't attack, I will leave you completely alone, so you can turn your attention and energies to whatever other schemes you're hatching."

Draco was suddenly hostile and formal. "Who told you about my schemes?"

Harry managed to turn his full-throated laugh into a mild chuckle. "Draco, you're a _Slytherin_. And you're _breathing_. By definition, you've got more than a handful of schemes going at any one time. I have no idea what they are or who they're aimed at, but I'm sure they're all ticking along nicely."

Draco had relaxed at Harry's amusement and explanation. "And if I'm not breathing?"

Harry smirked a little. "Then I'd stop looking for new schemes after I'd uncovered four."

Draco smirked back. "You seem to understand my House, after all this time." He paused. "But you're underestimating us. By a lot."

Harry shrugged. "I'm a Gryff. I don't have the attention span to unravel the snake's nest. But that's what I'm offering, in a way – you can spend all your attention on the rest of the school. As long as you don't attack me, you don't have to watch out for anything coming from my direction."

Draco studied Harry for a long moment. "Are there any others that you want to include in this? Maybe a house member or two?"

Harry shook his head and smiled. He tapped his tie with his right forefinger. "I'm surprised, Draco. I would have thought that the Slytherins would have picked up on my status and just kept it to themselves. Hogwarts took my house colors off my robes and tie about a month ago. I don't _have_ a house right now."

Draco's eyes widened. "What happens to your House points?"

Harry shrugged. "No idea. Don't care, really. I'm pretty sure that McGonagall has no idea, and there are only two Gryffs that I'm sure know. The rest of them?" Harry snorted. "They can sink or swim on their own."

Draco went very still for a moment, and then shook his head. "Not happening. You are offering the status quo in return for … the status quo. I will not make any meaningless agreements, and this," he gestured between the two of them, "means less than most." Draco shook his right hand, and his wand dropped into his grip. "What are you up to, Potter?" Draco began to back his way to the door.

Harry brought his own right hand up, with his wand ready and pointed in Draco's general direction. Moving towards the door himself, he flanked Draco and said, "A meaningless agreement might lead to a meaning _ful_ agreement. You lost that. Pity. Let your father know how you shut down a possible negotiation with the Boy-Who-Lived, okay?" _I didn't need the truce. I just needed to deliver the apology for first year. All the rest is on him._

And with that, Harry slipped out the door, leaving Draco to ponder just how badly his home life would deteriorate if Lucius Malfoy ever heard about this.


	9. Burnt Bridges

**Chapter 9: Burnt Bridges**

 **Tuesday, November 7, 1995**

Harry's life was never going to run smoothly, but this was ridiculous! Because of his absence from the dorms over the past three weeks, Harry had lost track of what the Gryffindor password was… and none of the Gryffindors were talking to him, so getting the password that way was …

 _Not quite true. I can probably get the password from one Gryff in particular_ …

Cane thumping on the flagstones, Harry caught up to Hermione as she came into the Great Hall for breakfast. The new cane handle – a smoky dark brown sphere matching the wood body – didn't allow for as much fine control of the cane (hence the exaggerated thumping), but it did have an upside; the hook of the derby handle had slammed into Harry's crotch twice yesterday. _**That**_ _won't be happening again_.

"Hermione, can we talk?"

She hadn't reached the table yet, so she turned to eye Harry warily. "Don't you have a friend you can speak with?" Hermione sounded a little bitter to Harry's ears. "Or is using me just so darn easy that you can't help it?"

Harry kept a lid on his temper, and replied evenly, "I would like to clear the air, and I have some apologies to make. I would like to make them this evening, publically, in the Gryffindor common room." Harry had a sudden brainstorm. "I understand that you might feel conflicted if I ask for the password, so I was hoping that you might just let me in at a prearranged time so I could say my piece." He tried to look her in the eye, but Hermione was looking everywhere but at him.

After a long pause, she murmured, "I can do that. Right after dinner, okay?" and rushed off.

-o-

Harry dawdled at dinner, sharing the exquisite food with Luna at the Ravenclaw table. He had suppressed his urge to roll his eyes at the 'Claws; for a group supposedly interested in knowledge, they didn't pay any attention to why (or how) a student managed to get a substantially different menu served to them. Perhaps the stereotypes were correct, and they only were interested in making good grades.

The conversation with Luna was a little more opaque than normal; Harry finally left after Luna had absentmindedly commented on his wrackspurts and told him to go easy on them. Harry wasn't sure if "them" referred to the wrackspurts or the Gryffindors. _Enough stalling. Time to do this_.

Outside the portrait of "The Fat Lady" ( _and why do they allow their house guardian to be so … demeaned_?), Harry had to wait for barely thirty seconds before Hermione – er, Granger, that is – opened the door behind the portrait and silently let him in. The common room was sparsely inhabited. _This could be a problem. Well, no help for it, then_.

Harry leaned heavily on his cane and raised his voice. "I have something to day to all house members, third year and above. Would someone be kind enough to summon them for a house meeting, please?" A young third year scrambled up to the male dorms. Parvati Patil had shot up the women's staircase as soon as Harry was halfway through his last sentence – this promised major social news, after all.

The thundering herd soon began, with students pouring into the common room. Soon the seats were all full, the tables had been taken over, and the walls were shoulder to shoulder. Seeing the crowd, Harry was struck by a thought: _if Hogwarts was once home to more students, how did they all fit in the towers?_ He shook it off – this was no time to lose focus.

Harry stepped forward into a small open space and began to speak as the noise died down. "Just after the beginning of this year, I was assigned a detention with a member of staff that we will laughingly call a 'Professor.' " Realizing what he was talking about, the crowd went absolutely silent. "In that detention, I was tortured for a brief moment, and I lost my temper. I repeated a stock Muggle phrase used when threatening revenge." Harry paused, breathing shallowly. He hadn't realized how worked up he could get by reviewing that memory.

He raised the volume a bit. "I was unaware of how magical folk cannot use Muggle wording without consequences. But since I phrased it as a conditional – as an if / then statement – there were no contracts or invocations made. And our ever-watchful head of house decided that the important information didn't need to be passed on to you, so I became an outcast in my own house."

Harry paused, and the room seemed to hold its collective breath.

"So, from that day to this, there have been three people from this house that have willingly spoken with me. One of them was Miss Angelina Johnson, and she confronted me about my withdrawal from the quidditch team, and hasn't spoken to me since. The rest of you… well, let's review my relationship with Gryffindor House, shall we?"

Harry didn't wait for an answer. "My first year, we won the House Cup. Slytherin House had won for the past decade, and they were in the point lead, even including our quidditch victories, but at the leaving feast, we were unexpectedly granted an enormous number of points because of the actions of Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, one Harry Potter," and Harry bowed mockingly at them, "and Neville Longbottom. Because of what we did – Gryffindor House received the House Cup for the first time in about ten years."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "And that brings us to my second year. After you have _witnessed_ me doing everything I can to protect my classmates and bring honor to my House, at the first _rumor_ that I might be a threat, this entire house, with the exception of two friends and Fred and George," Harry waved his cane toward the two standing behind Ron, "decided to ostracize me. At the end of that year, I risked my life to save another student, and I was awarded an unreasonable number of house points for it. Once again, this house won the house cup due to my actions." Harry could see that Hermione was looking thoughtful and somewhat grim. _This probably isn't going the way she thought it would_.

"Last year, I was entered into the Tri-Wizard tournament against my will. Convinced that I had cheated to enter, this entire house of Gryffindor once again decided to not talk to me. Only one member of this house helped me train and prepare. And once the first task was completed, you all decided that I was a winner, and you wanted to be on my good side. I didn't ask for apologies – but none of you offered one, either."

Harry swallowed. "And this year. One teacher gives you two sentences about how I _might_ be dangerous, and the lot of you decide to leave me twisting in the wind. Nobody talks to me about it. Not one. And the one person that had stuck with me over the past years now decided to choose you lot instead."

Amazingly, the crowd got even quieter. "I'm here to announce that I hold you no ill will. I understand that you were all looking out for your own interests. I get that. I hold no grudges." Harry hesitated. "I am sorry that it has come to this - but I am now done with you."

Harry looked specifically at Hermione. "With all of you."

Harry gaze sought out Ginny. "I will not save any of you from danger."

Harry regarded Ron. "And none of you have the right to call yourselves my friends."

Harry turned to leave, but the crowd made getting to the tower door somewhat difficult – and then Harry heard Ron's voice say, " _Slugulus Eructo_!"

Harry's world … slowed peculiarly. Twisting to his left Harry lost his balance and grabbed at his cane as he fell. The twist and lurch had let him escape the spell Ron had cast, but Harry's wand was still in his pocket. He saw out of the corner of his eye that several Gryffs were going for their own wands; he had to end this _now_ , before they started spellcasting, too.

Harry let his grip loosen, sliding down the cane body, and swung the cane by the tip toward Ron. The high-pitched screaming told Harry that he had hit … something.

Ron was cradling his right hand in his left, screaming in a soprano pitch that could make dogs howl. Some slivers of wood were embedded in his palm. Harry stood, and the world proceeded at a more normal pace.

The rest of the students were all pale, to a man, and they were looking back and forth between Ron and Harry. Nobody was going for their wands anymore, Harry noticed.

Harry pointed the cane at Ron's face. "You're not acting like a friend. That's why I said you aren't one. Try that again, and I'll destroy something a little harder to replace than your hand."

Harry slipped out of the tower as the yelling started. He snorted – _good thing I don't have to stick around and deal with all of them_. Making his way to his rooms, he hoped that Luna was there, as he seriously needed some advice.

Luna was comfortably ensconced in his study room, curled up on a small sofa with several books laid open on the table in front of her.

As she marked her place in two of the books, Harry made his way across the room and plopped down on the seat next to her, narrowly missing her feet.

"Well, how did it go?" Luna asked in her sing-song tones.

"Umm, probably … not well," Harry admitted. "I did get to tell them all that I was putting the past behind me and that I was done with them, but as I tried to leave, Ron tried to curse me. I, I … I think that I broke his wand and wand-hand."

Luna, by appearance, didn't seem quite all there, but Harry knew that was misleading. The same went for her tone of voice. So when her immediate questions seemed irrelevant, Harry knew to wait. "Was Ron sitting next to Hermione?"

"Um, no…. he was standing right in front of me and Hermione was sitting way off to my left."

"Were there any fifth or sixth year girls sitting where they could see both you and Ron?"

"Umm, I think so."

"Where were Fred and George?"

"Standing right behind him."

"And what was the last thing you said?"

"Uhh, I think it was how nobody there had the right to call themselves my friend."

Luna shook her head. "You ripped Ron's illusions away, in front of the girl he likes most, the girls that he wants to impress, and the brothers he wants to surpass. Hermione generally keeps him calm – well, calm- _er_ , and she was watching from a distance. That's why he attacked you – he feels like you attacked him first."

Harry shook his head, "Wait, what? Illusions? What do you mean, attacked?"

Luna smiled her calm little smile, and laid her hand on Harry's arm. "Ron is somewhat lazy. His only ambition is to play quidditch after school; he believes that will give him money and respect and the attentions of women with expectations so low that he will be able to maintain a relationship with minimal effort. He probably thought that being able to trade on your fame and skill would make his dreams come true, and then you ripped that all away with a public announcement." Luna shifted her legs to sit upright and began ticking items off on her fingers. "He now has nothing to make him stand out from his brothers. By being publically rejected as a friend by you, he now can't see getting any kind of attention from women, or more importantly, their breasts." Harry choked a little on that casually stated insight. "And his history of marginal grades means that he has an enormous hurdle to catch up and develop some sort of expertise so he can have the status and respect he craves." As an afterthought, she added, "And smashing his wand means that his parents will probably make him do many extra chores and take away his broom this summer."

Harry looked at Luna sideways. "And I did all that with one short sentence?" She nodded. "I've got another apology to make, then."

"Oh no, you don't."

Harry turned to look at Luna head on. "What?"

Luna shrugged. "He did it to himself. You can't offer friendship in return for social abuse and zero loyalty. Ron was flying on an imaginary broomstick – when he came face-to-face with reality, it disappeared. Not your fault, it's all on him."

"Huh." Harry contemplated this for a while, and Luna turned back to her studies.

"Luna?" Harry's attention returned to outside his own head.

"Yes?" she blinked demurely at him.

"Did any of the things you read about potion removal say anything about …" Harry frowned, "… odd effects?"

Luna's attention snapped fully to Harry. "What kind of …" she mimicked his phrasing, "… odd effects?"

"Well, when Ron shot that spell at me, time went a little weird."

Luna's eyes narrowed quite a bit. "What do you mean that 'time went a little weird'? Please be precise."

Harry shrugged. "People started moving slowly and cast spells slowed down."

"Ahh," said Luna, relaxing. "That's probably just your perceptions, not time itself. When the calming draughts are removed from a person's system, sometimes their perceptions speed up when they are faced with surprises. If time itself is going a little weird, you would see effects occurring before a cause, two or more versions of the same person at the same time, reversal of burning or aging … time effects are fairly easy to perceive, and should be avoided unless you have specific training. Daddy wrote about the Unspeakable's Temporal Anomaly training three years ago in the _Quibbler_. I believe that he recommended carrying an unripe kumquat, three pieces of string each less than four and a half inches, and an Indian rupee minted before 1657." After a short pause, she added, "Although any single rupee coin will do in a pinch. Do you anticipate encountering any real temporal oddities?"

In the same absentminded tone, Harry said, "Um, no. Thanks, Luna," and resumed staring into space. "Huh."

-o-

 **Wednesday, November 8, 1995**

As Harry entered the great hall for breakfast, he was immediately confronted by Prof. McGonagall – _strike that, Deputy Headmistress McGonagall_.

"Mr. Potter, you need to meet with the Headmaster immediately following breakfast." She turned and walked away. _More like the headmaster needs to meet with me. I really don't need to deal with him at all_.

After a quick breakfast (who knew that properly prepared bagels with lox, eggs benedict, and a small wild mushroom omelet could be so _good_?), Harry popped a devilled egg in his mouth and switched the bacon-and-egg-salad-sandwich to his right hand. _I wish I could revisit the 'no gluttony' thing_. His pack was already on his shoulder, so he grabbed his cane in his left hand and munched his breakfast as he desultorily made his way to the Headmaster's office. _I should've been sorted into Slytherin. This food would've made the last four years' worth it._

The guardian gargoyle stepped aside as Harry approached, and Harry stepped onto the moving circular stairway that transported him slowly up to the Headmaster's office. The Headmaster's door was already ajar, so Harry walked in without knocking.

Albus Dumbledore looked up from the paperwork on his desk – no, that was parchment, in incredible quantities. _How many sheep does that pile represent?_ Harry idly wondered. Dumbledore gave Harry no time to pursue that line of thought. "Ah, my boy," was the greeting, "so good of you to meet me. Might you close the door behind you, please?"

Harry did so, then returned to the front of Dumbledore's desk and sat down uninvited. "You know, every time you do that, my trust and respect for you decreases."

Dumbledore's expression showed a puzzled inquiry. "What, exactly, are you referring to?"

"Your lies, old man. You know very well that I am here because I was ordered to report to you. If that were not the case, the gargoyle would not have admitted me. And yet you lie about the reasons for my appearance here, _to my face_. And it occurs to me … if you are willing to lie to me when we both know you are lying, you are just as willing to lie to me about everything else."

Dumbledore briefly looked ashamed – possibly about his habitual prevarication, but definitely about being chastised for it. After a small moment, he returned, "So would you like to correct me every time I make an error?"

Harry snorted. "'Error'? It's deliberate! And you can't even admit to it after I tell you I'm aware of your lies. And no, I will not tell you whenever I'm aware of your lies. That will not encourage you to be honest; it would only let you know which lies are not being detected. By not telling you when I know you're lying, you have no choice but to tell me the complete truth at all times. Or …." Harry's eyes narrowed, "you can confirm that you need your lies more than you need my trust. Either way."

Dumbledore sighed, expressing the burden of complying with unreasonable demands. "As you wish, young Harry."

Harry rolled his eyes. _As if telling the truth takes such an effort. Old bastard._

Dumbledore went on, "I have a report that you attacked young Mr. Weasley last night in the Gryffindor common room." The headmaster peered over the tops of his spectacles at Harry. "What went on, my boy?"

Harry found himself resorting to snorting again. "One: I am not your boy. I belong to no one other than myself, and I will happily repudiate you _to your face_ and _in public_ every time you make that ridiculous claim of ownership. Two: Ronald Weasley attempted to hit me with a slug-eating hex as I was finishing telling Gryffindor house that I bore them no ill-will for their continued abandonment and lack of support. In evading his hex, I lost my balance and lashed out with my cane in a desperate move, hoping to end the fight before the rest of the house began casting spells. Even though it was accidental, I do not regret that I smashed his wand and hand."

The headmaster had flinched a bit at Harry's first point. Upon hearing the events last night, Dumbledore frowned and sat in thought a bit.

"You should never reject friendship, Harry. Our friends are absolutely essential to our happiness."

 _Seriously? I'm supposed to swallow this tripe?_

Harry said, "I'm always accepting of true friendship. And, Headmaster?" Dumbledore nodded for Harry to continue. "I'm officially revoking your first-name privileges. You can refer to me as 'Mr. Potter', and you may never use my first name to address me. Understand? You are deliberately fostering the incorrect assumption that I'm friendly with you and under your leadership. That's another lie you're not going to get away with, and I will refute your assumption that I follow you to everyone I meet."

"Harr…" Dumbledore was in a hurry to rephrase at Harry's sharp look. "Mr. Potter, I am at a loss as to where this sudden hostility comes from."

Harry's eyebrows rose involuntarily. "Really? I can trace the majority of pain in my life to decisions and actions of _yours_ , Mr. Dumbledore. You have yet to tell me why Voldemort is so determined to come after me, and your refusal to share information is going to make me dead someday. Is it really worth all your effort to play puppet-master with the lives of the people that are supposed to be on your side?" _Huh. That's a significant flinch. What's going on in his head?_

Dumbledore rallied back with, "I am not trying to manipulate people, Mr. Potter. I am the Headmaster of Hogwarts, and that is all I've ever wanted."

Harry peered suspiciously at Dumbledore, sitting behind his desk. "Do you really believe that?"

"Of course!"

"Then you lie to yourself, as well as to everyone else," Harry concluded. "If you truly would like to do nothing but run Hogwarts, then can you tell me who you are mentoring to take over the positions of Chief Warlock and Supreme Mugwump?"

Dumbledore's face immediately went blank.

"I didn't think so." Harry let himself out of the office quietly, not wanting to disturb the paralysis that had seemingly settled over Dumbledore's brain. As the gargoyle shifted to let Harry out into the corridor, Harry replayed the meeting in his memory. _He didn't even offer me a lemon drop – as if I'd let him potion me like that._ He wasn't sure if any of the gestures that Dumbledore made might have been spells. Or perhaps … the request to close the door might have covered something? _Something else for the to-do list: learn how to detect what spells have been cast on me_. _Maybe Dobby could help with that._

Harry attended his daily classes on autopilot as usual, but this time he was preoccupied with detection spells – he knew a spell that showed hidden people, but he realized that nowhere in the curriculum were any spells that reacted to the presence of magic. That was a serious deficiency, Harry realized, and immediately after a wondrous lunch (goat cheese salad with almonds on grilled bread, crispy brussel sprouts with some sort of sweet glaze, and a cucumber mint lemonade), he used his free hour to tear through the library.

Well, he intended to, at first. Instead, he made good use of the human-presence-revealing charm, casting _Homenum Revelio_ at intervals. Insuring that he was free of followers (nobody thought that Harry was worth following this time – but he felt that it was something he should do), he went back to his lair… no, a room that was not his lair. _Which really should be capitalized_ , Harry thought. _I have a Lair. And I don't want those idiots to know where it is._

"Dobby? Winky?"

Both house elves popped in front of Harry immediately. "What can we do for Master Harry Potter Sir?" asked Winky.

"Please remove all magic from me and my rooms."

Winky put out her hand to stop Dobby from immediately doing anything and looked at Harry dubiously. "Are you sure, Master Harry Potter Sir? Master and Loveysgood Girl being putting lots of spells on rooms. Do those magics need to go away?"

Harry started as he realized his mistake. "Gahh! Good call, Winky. You kept me from making a big mistake. Okay, let's narrow this a bit. What spells are on me and my clothes?"

Dobby shook his head and looked very sorrowful. "We's house-elfs, Master Harry Potter Sir. We can see human magic, but mostly we do not know what magic does."

"Huh." Harry had to stop and think briefly. "Okay, then let's just find out if there's any magic on me right now." Both Dobby and Winky immediately snapped their fingers at him, then slowly walked around him in opposite directions.

"Master Harry Potter Sir has manys magics on his clothes. Should house elves get rid of its?" Dobby had learned, at least temporarily, from Winky's caution.

"Yes," said Harry firmly. Both elves snapped their fingers and a brief tingle washed over Harry.

Fortunately, there were no transfigurations on Harry's clothes, a point that hit him a few moments after he needed to think of it. His eyes widened and he shook his head. _Think, dammit!_

"Um, Dobby and Winky, could you please check the rest of my clothes for magic? And let Luna know what we're doing so that nobody will be able to follow us to my rooms." Both elves nodded, Dobby more vigorously (as usual.)

"Is there any magic on me?" Dobby shook his head. "Ok, I'm heading back to the Lair," Harry was secretly proud he could casually make that statement, "and I need you to remind me in time to get to my next class."

"Yes, Master Harry Potter Sir," was the response, and both house elves popped away.

Safely ensconced in his rooms – _whoops, that would be 'Lair'_ – Harry opened _The Book_ and got out a long-ish sheet of parchment. There's got to be spells about detecting magic in here somewhere. Wand in hand, he incanted " _Revelabit loca_ **detect** ," and then shifted his wand to the point at the parchment, " _hic enumeratius_." Slowly, blue words appeared on the parchment showing the location of all the places that the word 'detect' appeared in _The Book_. Harry sat rather heavily, as spots swirled in his vision. _The Book_ was over twenty thousand magically-compressed pages; Harry should have remembered about the power required to search all those words before he cast the spell. Maybe that's why _The Book_ was so unique – the spells needed to deal with a collection of knowledge this big were very draining.

Harry's daze was eventually interrupted by a loud gong, and Dobby's loud voice proclaiming, "Master Harry Potter Sir is needing to be going to Herbology." _Oh well. Off to Herbology_. Chasing down those spells could wait until later.

Harry's search did pan out that evening, when the reference list led him to a collection of charms that would detect magic and give some idea of what the magic would do. There was also a warning about using the spells; "The frequent use of magic leads a spell caster to use their magic as a sovereign specific in most instances, even in cases where it is contraindicated. The misapplication of magic should not be taken as an insight into the motives, skills, intent, or aim of any caster." Harry puzzled over this until he slapped his forehead. _Oh. 'Wizards and witches are stupid. They use magic all the time, even when it's not a good idea. They will frequently cast spells that won't solve their problems. Don't think that you know what they're trying to do.'_ He shrugged. _Yeah, like that's escaped my notice_.


	10. Bravery

**Chapter 10: Bravery**

 **Friday, November 10, 1995**

Harry noticed something worrying in his classes – Hermione wasn't answering questions anymore. Well, she would if she were called on, and she'd answer as completely as ever, but there were no digressions, and it was evident that her heart wasn't in it like she used to be.

Her hair was unkempt (well, more than usual) and her attention was never fully present in the classes that Harry attended. She didn't mention the overriding importance of the OWL testing, either, which really sent up warning signals to Harry.

Harry approached McGonagall after the noon meal. "I need an appointment with the Head of Gryffindor House this evening after dinner. What times are available?"

Even though she apparently remembered their last conversation, McGonagall did not disappoint. She sniffed, and said, "I will be in my office between seven thirty and nine thirty this evening. You may approach me there," and she twirled and walked away.

 _This may require a large hammer_.

Harry checked his arguments and approach with Luna, and made sure that he finished dinner early. Sitting at the Gryffindor table was another exercise in isolation (even though he was sitting across from Neville), but Harry tried to make sure that he attended enough to avoid suspicion. His escape from the Gryff tower may be discovered soon, in any case, but he wasn't going to make it easy on the bastards.

At half-past seven, Harry set out for the office of the transfiguration teacher, reaching it about five minutes later. His delay meant that other students got there first; a 'Puff seventh year was waiting outside, and she informed Harry that there was another 'Puff inside – presumably for help in mastering their NEWT level classes, Harry figured. He sat down on the floor at the other side of the hallway to wait.

It was a long time, the two 'Puffs needed a lot of instruction. Ninety minutes later, the second 'Puff left McGonagall's office, and Harry used his cane to lever himself upright, legs protesting a bit.

"What is it, Mr. Potter?" The tone was frosty.

Harry took an uninvited seat in McGonagall's office, leaning his cane against his leg. "You hold three positions here at Hogwarts; Deputy Director, Professor, and Head of House." Harry ticked them off on his fingers. "You are an excellent teacher. Your duties as Deputy Director are filled only insofar as Dumbledore allows, which is to say, only partially. And as for your Head of House duties," Harry shook his head in mock sorrow, "you neglect them entirely."

McGonagall's eyes flashed as she took offense to Harry's admittedly offensive summary. "I will not have you …"

"SHUT IT," Harry ordered. McGonagall sat back stunned – her carefully cultivated persona should have prevented any student from _talking back_ to her, much less taking control of the conversation. Harry's tone went back to a normal conversational level. "You have three sets of duties, and fill them each to differing levels. If you were _trying_ to actually fill all of them, you would let each of those duties lapse at times as you tried to fulfill others, trying to fulfill _all_ your responsibilities. But your teaching never suffers." He held the teacher's eyes for a moment. "You know that you are overloaded, and you let everything else slide so that you remain the premier teacher of transfiguration, the best that Hogwarts has seen, as far as my research tells me." He saw McGonagall sit back a bit, surprised to be complimented in a discussion that started out as this one did.

"Your teaching of _your_ classes does not suffer, because you don't take the time to insure that no _other_ subject suffers. Your Deputy duties include overseeing the staff, and you don't. Snape being the prime example, Binns being a lesser example. You also fail to oversee the other Houses – Snape again being a prime example, Flitwick also needing your attention."

Now she sat straighter, still a little overwhelmed by Harry's attack.

"But this is about your House – the students that you accepted responsibility for, the students you are completely _failing_ in your self-absorption. You have a student inches away from a breakdown. Hermione Granger is heading for a major depression, and you have _one last chance_ to convince me that you are worth listening to. Or obeying in any manner." _I hope that Dumbledore's need to control me works with McGonagall as well_.

Now that she knew what Harry was demanding, McGonagall rallied. "I will have you know that I am aware of what's going on …"

"Bullshit." Harry calm interruption floored the professor – again. "You and I both know that you don't know what's going on, and the bits that you do know aren't things you care about." Harry abruptly roared, "LOOK AT ME!"

McGonagall flinched back into her chair. "I haven't worn Gryffindor colors for over a month, McGonagall. _Hogwarts itself_ has taken them from me, has declared me to be outside the House system. If you have any delusions of adequacy, let's put them to rest now. You know _nothing_." Pause. "And you never cared to know." _**That's**_ _probably not true. But it might be the part that gets her attention_. The Gryffindor Head was in shock, probably at least partially from how Harry had been speaking. Harry could only hope that the content of his message was responsible for most of it.

Harry levered himself up on his cane, legs shaking a bit, feeling that it was better to leave before McGonagall's defense could return. "I'm sorry that I had to go to these lengths, but you need to ignore who said it and listen to _what_ was said. Support Granger. And if you have any thought for those kids in your care, get them someone who won't fail them as badly as you, Snape, or Flitwick does. I bear you no ill will for how you've treated me, but I cannot stand by while you mistreat a former friend."

Harry closed the door behind him. _With any luck, her pride will drive her to find a better Head of House to replace her. I hope Luna read her right._ Harry smirked to himself. _And that was probably the most confrontational apology I've ever made._

-o-

 **Saturday, November 11, 1995**

The night before, Luna had overseen Harry's homework, aided and abetted (very enthusiastically) by Winky and Dobby. ("Master Harry Potter Sir must finish writings sos Master Harry Potter Sir can talk Miss Loveygood into having Master Harry Potter Sir's babies." Luna had an amazingly loud belly laugh for such a petite young lady.) Which left the weekend for lazily reading in _The Book_ , flying, and conversation. (And avoiding talking to the house-elves. Harry briefly reflected again on the need for earplugs.)

"What do you actually see when you see wrackspurts?" was Harry's opening question. They were wandering through the rooms inside the Astronomy tower – 4th floor, currently. Harry was casting detection spells at every opportunity, and they were investigating every indication of magic that they came across.

Luna considered a moment. "They are very, very small, Harry, so I'm not sure that I've ever actually seen one properly. What I actually see is a little dark dot where the background image is a little distorted."

"So you see an effect of where they are, but never the wrackspurts themselves?"

"Right." Luna was quiet while she surveyed a room painted – or otherwise colored – in zebra stripes, and then they moved on. "Just a cloud of these little points moving around a person's head."

"Does the motion correlate with anything?"

Luna looked a little approvingly at Harry. "That's a really good question."

"And have you seen the wrackspurts anywhere besides around a person's head?"

"Another really good question."

Harry's eyebrows raised. "Do you have any answers for those questions?"

Luna shrugged. "Not really." She looked around at room that was significantly bigger than the tower itself, and in a hexagonal shape. "Why are the rooms all round or have an even number of sides? I would think that a septagonal shape would be pleasing."

Harry shook his head. "No idea, Luna. None at all." There was no denying that Luna was a very brilliant young lady, gifted with both keen insight and acute perception. But Luna was also on the far side of strange.

 _Well, it keeps the conversation interesting, at least._

-o-

 **Monday, November 13, 1995**

The feeling of a full stomach was never going to be taken for granted by Harry Potter. But the feeling of warm laziness that he usually felt when eating the Gryffindor menu was absent this time. _Um … lassitude. That's the word_. Apparently, eating well-prepared food in correct portions could make him feel energized without feeling … heavy. It was a good feeling.

Harry was sitting at the end of the Ravenclaw table with Luna, both of them ostracized together, enjoying food that was better than it should have been. The weekend had been full of lazy explorations (of the castle only – Harry was wary of asking Luna to do anything, simply because he knew she'd agree. The knowledge he had power made him acutely aware of how exercising it could seriously screw up his friendship.)

And ... a worrisome development. The detection spells that Harry had been learning were finally within his repertoire; they were turning up some results that made Harry … concerned. Harry's clothes, despite being cared for only by his (increasingly pushy and baby-hungry) house-elf staff, were being tagged by tracking charms and listening charms almost every day. Luna airily told Harry that the presence of a listening charm on his underwear was an indication that his fan-girls were deeply interested in his flatulence – or maybe that the charms were being applied automatically: Harry only seriously considered the second option. There was a charm applied to Harry's wand that recorded all spells cast – and that charm wasn't found on Luna's wand, so they both concluded that it wasn't part of the infamous 'trace' that restricted a student's use of magic. And the tracking charms found on Harry were all across his clothes, belongings, and body, and were of varying types.

In comparison, Luna had tracking charms on her shoes and tie. Nothing else. By which Luna deduced that tracking charms were migratory and were attracted to the combination of boy's sweat and the sound of breaking wind. Harry looked at her flatly after that one, saying only, "That's gotta be it." And he let it drop. But Dobby kept busy disrupting and eliminating all the charms each evening after dinner. This was so routine that Harry barely even noticed when Dobby would repeatedly snap his fingers as Harry returned to his Lair. (And Harry was mightily pleased that his nomenclature had stuck.)

The day's classes had been … right in line with Harry's unfortunate routine; careful disinterest from the instructors, and hostile disregard from Harry's fellow students. It actually made it easier to work through the lesson in most classes, much to Harry's surprise. When Harry worked through transfiguration, charms, astronomy, or DADA exercises in his Lair, he was consistently able to work faster, more accurately, and do work of higher quality than anyone in his class. He refused to display that among his classmates, though – the distrust that Harry was learning had become habit.

As Harry and Luna were finishing up their meal – Harry visibly restraining himself from overeating – Dumbledore stood and cleared his throat at high volume. "May I have your attention, please students? I have a matter of some import to announce." The 'fed and watered' students steeled down and the background noise abated enough so Dumbledore could continue.

"After a series of discussions, our Transfiguration Mistress," and Dumbledore gestured to McGonagall, who was sitting with an expression of disfavor frozen on her features, "has asked to step down from her position as Head of Gryffindor House. She feels that her workload with her other positions force her to shortchange the students in her House. For the remainder of the year, Prof. Babbling will be serving as the Head of House for Gryffindor, and that arrangement will be reviewed over the summer months before a permanent appointment is made." Dumbledore bowed and swept his left hand out to indicate Prof. Babbling as she stood.

"All Gryffindor students are required to report to the House common room immediately after dinner this evening so I can make my expectations clear. I expect to see all of you in twenty minutes," the Runes Professor announced. In a distinctly less authoritative tone she added, "Mr. Potter and Mr. Longbottom, I would appreciate it if the two of you could join us," as she made eye contact with first Neville and then Harry. Neville first looked at Harry, who nodded, and then he nodded that the new Gryffindor Head, indicating that they both would attend.

A small swell of noise engulfed all the tables as they discussed why Neville and Harry would rate a polite request rather instead of being included in the order. Harry inwardly shook his head; the deal with their hideaways would be coming to light very shortly. He just hoped that Neville would not be hit by the backlash – it was Harry's idea first, so Harry felt that he should be the one that was responsible for the consequences.

The Gryffindor common room was a tight fit for all the students … until they got organized. The seventh year boys prefect – Damian somebody – got everyone seated in stadium style, with the youngest (and shortest) students facing the fireplace. He then arranged the second years behind them, and continued with each older year behind the youngers, finishing up with the seventh years standing with their backs to the walls. Harry and Neville were an exception to this scheme, as nobody was sure where they fit into Gryffindor house – and Harry couldn't help them, as he didn't really know, either. Neville just shook his head with a small smile when asked, so both of the wayward sons were sitting in high-backed armchairs, their feet surrounded by first years.

"Lookin' good, Papa Longbottom," Harry called out with a small smile.

Neville casually looked at the gaggle of first years that had clustered around his shoes, and replied somberly, "Should I ever have children, I'd hope to be able to trust them, Potter." The implication was clearly heard by all years, and instantly shut down the casual conversations in the room.

At that moment, everyone became aware that Prof. Babbling was making her way through the students toward the front of the room. When she was in front of the minimally glowing fireplace, she cleared her throat, which sounded loud in the hush. "I have spent the weekend reviewing the recent history of the Gryffindor House." There was a long silence. "I am disappointed." The silence in reply from students was absolute.

"And we are not going to have this happen again." Again, no response.

Prof. Babbling stepped to the side of the fireplace, still in view of everyone. "I am fully aware that Gryffindor House has been run almost completely unsupervised except by the prefects for the past three decades. It is to their credit that none of you have been expelled up to this point." The threat was clear, even to the less socially aware in the crowd. "But I will not allow this House to become so fragmented ever again."

She cleared her throat. "First, you need to understand that Mr. Potter is not at fault for the way he responded to the former Defense Professor; it was response that grew out of ignorance, and he has since learned better. Neither is Mr. Potter at fault for the reaction of Prof. McGonagall, which as far as I can tell was _calculated_ to drive a wedge between Mr. Potter and the rest of Gryffindor House." There was a lot of muttering in response to that. "Prof. McGonagall has had some painful dealings with people that have used holy oaths, and her past encouraged her to overreact to Mr. Potter's actions. Mr. Potter's oath did not activate, and will not be fulfilled unless Miss Umbridge returns and attempts to physically torture Mr. Potter once again. He has been fully informed of why his words were foolish, and I have been assured that he will not use similar oaths against anyone in Hogwarts. Correct?" Prof. Babbling eyed Harry firmly.

"Correct," Harry affirmed.

"However," the Professor continued in a loud voice, "the reason that Mr. Potter and Mr. Longbottom are no longer on the Gryffindor rolls is because Gryffindor House – our house – does not support its own. Our bravery is absent, and we have meekly followed the crowds instead of standing up for what is right, or for those who have no champion." In a voice that compelled obedience, she intoned, " _This will not happen again. EVER_." She toned down her next sentence. "Is this understood?"

There was a wave of nods, the younger years much more frantic to appease their Head than the upper.

"Very well. Before I discuss the new schedule for House meetings, I think that we should first hear from our recently departed members. Mr. Longbottom? Would you be willing to rejoin Gryffindor House?"

Neville stood and turned to face the assembled students. "I don't think so. Ever since I've been at Hogwarts, this house has been anywhere from very unfriendly to actively hostile." He shrugged. "I am having a better time at school on my own than I ever had as part of this … group. I have used the bravery of Gryffindor to leave the House and strike out on my own. I prefer it." He sat down, the firsties on the floor moving away from him as best they could; Harry suspected out of embarrassment.

Prof. Babbling nodded as if she expected it. "And Mr. Potter?"

Harry stood, following Neville's lead. "I've never had a year where the majority of Gryffindor House actually acted in a friendly way to me." Harry looked over the heads of most sitting students until he found the quidditch team together in a corner. "The only thing that this house wants from me is my ability to catch the snitch. I contribute – excuse me, contribut _ed_ \- 450 points each year to Gryffindor's qudditch scores, and this year, I have resigned because I have no faith in your team. I refuse to rely on a team that isn't actually on my side." Harry shrugged. "And that's why I left. Pretending that you support me would be a lie. And I no longer believe that this House is worth supporting." He sat again.

"I'd like to expand on your answer a bit, Mr. Potter, if that is agreeable." Harry nodded to the new Head. "You said that you believe that this house does not deserve your support. Why is that?"

"Because I get no support from this House in return. If I'm doing something wrong, well, I get that. But nobody bothered to find out what I really did or why."

"Thank you for making my point for me, Mr. Potter. If House points meant anything to you, I would award 5." Turning to face the entirety of the assembled students, Prof. Babbling went on, "This House – which means each of you – offers nothing in return for fighting for what is right – in the past, Gryffindor has only supported going along with other Gryffindors. That will be the primary subject of our discussions. Before we get into that, I'd like to thank Mr. Longbottom and Mr. Potter for taking time out of their day and attending a meeting that has nothing to do with them."

Both Neville and Harry heard the implied dismissal, and rose from their chairs. As they made their way to the common room door, Harry spied a girl sitting at a desk with her head bowed, bushy hair falling over and shadowing her face.

He froze his expression to avoid calling attention to her, but made a mental note: _Check on Hermione in a week to see if her life is better._

-o-

 **Monday, November 20, 1995**

Enjoying a specially Slytherin lunch in his Lair (Two slices of tender lamb in a robust, toasted hoagie roll with a warm potato and watercress salad – very comforting in a cold autumn castle), Harry was startled by Dobby's appearance. "Master Harry Potter Sir is being ask-ed for in Poppy Lady's office."

Harry regarded the hoagie in his hands. "Is it urgent?"

Dobby cocked his head to the side, listening to unheard indications. Finally the house elf said, "Master Harry Potter Sir should talk with Poppy Lady today."

Harry waved a thank you as he resumed appreciating the lamb hoagie.

Three quarters of an hour later, Harry walked into the Hospital wing. Immediately, Madame Pomfrey hurried up to him. "Thank Merlin that you've come! She's almost completely incoherent, frantic with worry. You'll need to speak with her immediately!" Madame Pomfrey began herding and tugging Harry to a cot that was completely surrounded by portable screens. She thrust him into the cordoned off area, and Harry's ears were immediately assaulted by sobs and wails. _Silencing charm. She could have mentioned._

Harry found Miss Granger curled up into a ball of misery on the cot. _She really is incoherent_. Harry put his hand on her shoulder. "What's the matter?"

Hermione launched herself from her cot and fastened herself around Harry so quickly she was a blur. The crying and, well, blubbering, were quieter now, even though she was only inches away from his ear. Harry was a little unsure of where his hands were allowed, and looked around for a way to sit down. _Preferably unburdened_.

Harry asked again, "What's the matter?" as he tried to shuffle the both of them over to a chair next to the cot. The question only produced another burst of disjointed noise. Sitting down with Hermione on his lap seemed the best way to wait until she was able to talk.

Eventually, Hermione sat up and spoke. "Prof. Babbling told me that my actions were significantly different from how I acted last year in her class, and suggested that I take a cleansing potion. I trusted her, so I took it. This year, I have …" Hermione sobbed a bit. "I have been under a loyalty potion and a love potion."

Harry thought a bit. "I assume that they were to two different people?"

Hermione nodded into his shoulder. "Ron Weasley and Dumbledore."

Harry snorted. "I'm going to guess that it was loyalty to Dumbledore, and not love?"

Hermione twitched violently. "I think that I just threw up a little."

"So what were your instructions from Dumbledore?"

"I was supposed to find out where you are sleeping and what you are studying outside of normal class assignments." _Interesting – the tracking charms aren't working for him_.

Harry changed the subject. "Are you feeling any aftereffects of the cleansing potion? You were petrified three years ago, so you might be feeling a little stiff after flushing the mandrake potion out."

"No, I'm good. Madame Pomfrey helped me with that right away," she replied absently.

They were silent a while. Harry broke the silence. "Granger, my legs are starting to fall asleep here. Do you think you could go sit somewhere else?" Hermione complied, grumbling _sotto voice_ about insensitive prats.

After she rearranged herself on the hospital wing cot, she said in a small voice, "It wasn't my fault. You forgive me, right?"

Harry sighed – he really had hoped not to have this conversation. "You did not apologize when I first pointed out how you offended me. You still haven't shown that you even understand what you did was wrong, much less how it was an offense. Forgiving someone who doesn't know what they did is useless. And you haven't accepted responsibility for doing wrong – forgiveness extended to someone that wasn't responsible for the action isn't useful at all. I guess," Harry mused, "you have _implied_ that you are responsible, but in the same breath that you claim that you aren't. So no points there."

Harry looked long and hard at Hermione, who was hiding behind her hair. "You were given a task from Dumbledore. But _how_ you did it was up to you. I would encourage you to repent. But repenting in the expectation of being forgiven is not true repentance, and will not do you any good." Feeling a little mean, he added, "I'm not sure I even _want_ to forgive you, but until you show that you can _receive_ forgiveness, I don't have to think about it."

He got up. As he was about to pass through the partitions around her cot, he tossed back, "If you are feeling unsafe, Longbottom has a small collection of spells and enchantments that you might find helpful. Be sure that he explains the moral obligation that goes along with that knowledge."

 _I should put together the detection spells and pass those along, too. Now we know that the old bastard will try to control us any way he can_.


	11. Planting Roots

**Chapter 11: Planting Roots**

 **Friday, November 24, 1995**

Hermione Granger hadn't attended classes for the past two days, and Harry had gotten a nod from Neville indicating that Granger had received both spell collections – detection and construction. Now she was back in class, and aside from the stress that usually happened in potions class, was looking much recovered.

At lunch, immediately following class, Hermione sat reasonably close to both Harry and Neville. After a quick lunch (where Harry had _stupendous_ food, but didn't share with his fellow outcasts), Hermione asked the two boys to follow her. "I really would like you to see this." Harry glanced at Neville, and they both agreed. The fifth year Gryffindor schedule, which still ruled the boy's lives, was clear until Monday morning; they had the time.

Hermione took the lead as they left the Great Hall. "I wasn't feeling safe in the dorms, because I don't know how Ron slipped me the potion, so I took the packet of spells, and I've made my own rooms." She led them to a small alcove rarely used around the main stairs.

"And," Hermione said nervously, "I made a special way in. The Always-Next-Door enchantment helped me make sense of some references I came across when I was looking into how Hogwarts changes room locations – oh, and the moving stair enchantments, too." Hermione was speeding up, now, and Harry could tell that she was just a few phrases away from really launching into her stride.

Interrupting, Harry asked, "So, could we see this spell?"

"Oh, um, yes, of course." Hermione waved her hand at the blank wall, and a door appeared. Or rather, as Harry peered more closely, a black hole of nothingness shaped like a door. Hermione explained, "This is a transport membrane linked to a location in my rooms. Once an object makes contact with the magically active surface, it is transported to the sympathetically corresponding location that I've set up."

It was Neville, this time, who acted to head off a complete explanation. "So we just walk through?" Hermione nodded, and Neville immediately took a step into the blackness. Harry followed, finding himself in a well-lit hexagonal room. _I think I've been here before._ The walls were a continuous round of bookcases with glass covers, showcasing the golden hue of the wood, with exceptional workmanship and finish. In contrast, the bed, wardrobe, and study area in the center of the room were simply stuck there, showing none of the grace or sense of proportion evident in the bookcases. Aside from the floor-to-ceiling bookcases, which may have covered any windows that the room possessed, there was nothing around the room that had decoration or color. Neville and Harry caught each other's eyes, and smirked. _Granger all over._

Hermione followed them, and stood nervously, apparently waiting for approval. Harry walked forward and inspected the desk – already showing signs of a Granger study session – and turned, looking at the walls and ceiling. Neville walked over to the wardrobe and ran his hand along the side, then looked at the bookshelves. The two boys considered the room and looked at each other.

Harry quietly asked, "Hermione, where are we?"

"Oh," she quickly replied, "We're in the Astronomy Tower. I adjusted the enchantment on the stairs so that they skip the fourth floor, and then I moved in."

"Really?" Harry was amazed. "That's a lot better security that what I've got. I'm just …"

Neville held up a hand to stop Harry from speaking. "Hermione, could you adjust your exit so that we come out on the seventh floor in the south corridor? I … think you should both see what I've come up with."

Quickly, Hermione responded, "Of course, Neville." She moved to the wall that they had just stepped out of, and waved her left hand causing a black doorway to appear. Neville took the lead again and stepped through.

The corridor was noticeably brighter than was typical of the rest of the castle, and Neville led them from their magical exit along the hallway to an alcove with two sets of armor standing at attention. Neville tugged on the pennant that the left one held, and his wand traced a quick pattern on the shield of the one on the right. A narrow doorway opened up between the two, and Neville ushered his two guests through.

The room was … amazing. The south wall was an open expanse of glass that ran several yards up the ceiling. The view was simply breathtaking! There was a large workbench against the stone of the north wall, and there were planters and boxes against the glass and throughout the room; they looked to be largely unfilled, but Harry knew that this was going to be Hogwart's newest greenhouse. Neville's bed, a Hogwarts-standard four poster, was over against the farthest wall (an afterthought, Harry figured), and there was a small wardrobe and study up against the west wall.

Hermione walked quickly through the room, taking note of the storage areas under the planters, and she stopped with one hand on an almost completely unnoticeable door next to the bed. Neville quickly called out, "Water closet," and she walked on, inspecting the rest of the layout. Harry was content to just observe from where he stood, and the two boys didn't have long to wait until Hermione's walk was complete.

Neville asked, "Can you open up a portal to any location from here, or do we have to go back to your room to go somewhere else?"

Hermione admitted, "That's the one drawback I've found with this. One end of the transport must be to the anchored location, so no free passage is possible."

Neville nodded, and gestured to the empty wall next to his empty workbench. Hermione waved her hand again (and this time, Harry caught that she was subvocalizing _something_ ), and they all walked through the inky blackness.

Back in Hermione's Den (as Harry just _had_ to think of it), Neville asked Harry, "So where's your suite?"

Harry said, "The fourth floor, corner of the north and center hallways."

Hermione waved her hand, and they stepped through … into a small knot of Ravenclaws; it looked like a few fifth and sixth year girls directing a small gaggle of younger years. "There's got to be a secret passageway …" The leader, Mandy Brocklehurst, again, trailed off as Hermione stepped through and everyone became aware of the interlopers in the hall. Brocklehurst's eyes narrowed. "Where did you three come from?" she demanded.

"Um, is that an existential question?" Harry pondered, straight faced. Neville snorted and Hermione rolled her eyes.

Hermione obviously saw an opening to confuse the issue and started, "Honestly Harry, just because someone wants to debate the fundamental issues of being and action and location doesn't mean that they are anywhere near being incomprehensible or even a waste of time."

Some of the younger girls were paying attention and nodding along, but Mandy Brocklehurst brandished her wand and snarled, "Where did you _come_ from?"

Harry walked forward and physically batted her wand aside with his left forearm. He grabbed the front of her robes and yanked down hard, forcing her to her knees. The 'Claws around them recoiled a bit as he leaned down to her upturned face; unprovoked violence was a little much for them to receive. _But not to dish out_. "I just walked from one of the greenhouses. And I remember that I owe you." Mandy's face whitened a bit as Harry plucked her wand from her hand. He backed up out of her reach and used his own wand to detect if any spells were present on Mandy's wand. _Negative_. Harry smirked, and cast a powerful Curse Cancelling charm on Mandy's wand, and tossed it at her feet.

"If I'm as powerful as you think, your wand won't work for the next 24 hours. If I'm as powerful as you fear … it might not ever work quite right again." Harry looked coldly across the group in blue trim. "If you want bullies at Hogwarts, I'll oblige you. But next time," he looked at Brocklehurst, "I'll do something permanent." He flicked his hands at the surrounding 'Claws. "Shoo." The girls took off at a fast walk, Brocklehurst stumbling as she walked backwards for a few steps – unwilling to let Harry out of her view. Finally, all the interlopers had run off and Harry relaxed.

He turned to see that Neville and Hermione were both putting their wands away. "Um, thanks." They both nodded back.

"What was that all about?" asked Neville.

Harry shrugged. "I found Mandy and her friends about to strip a younger girl in the corridors at wand point a few months ago. I let her know that there's always a bigger bully and that I'd be happy to provide her with one if she didn't back off. I guess that she didn't quite change her ways."

Hermione interrupted, a bit hesitantly. "Harry what did you do? Was there a spell on her wand that you dispelled?"

Harry smirked faintly while slowly moving down the hall. "No, actually. It wouldn't have worked if there was a spell there."

Following, Neville asked, "What do you mean?"

"Well, the general counterspell removes an existing spell, right? I found an old paper that describes what happens when the counterspell is used without an active spell to neutralize; it sets up a resonance that blocks magic from flowing through the object until the counterspell naturally dissipates. And since I did it to her wand …" Harry shrugged. "Anyway, we're here." He looked around and saw no trace of the Ravenclaw gang. "Neville, grab Hermione's arm, please …"

Harry took Neville's shoulder and guided them through the mild _confundus_ spells and shadowed opening behind the armor. "And here's where I've been staying." _My Lair_.

Hermione and Neville inspected the study room, bemused at the rainbow stripes that ran from one wall, across the ceiling, to the other corner. Hermione let out a small "eep!" when a shadowed chair turned out to be occupied. "Hello," said Luna quietly, looking up from her book. Neville jumped a little, and Harry shook his head fondly.

"Luna, I'd like to introduce you to Neville Longbottom and Hermione Granger. They used to be with me in Gryffindor. Neville, Hermione, this is Luna Lovegood, a Ravenclaw that started a year after we did."

Neville narrowed his eyes a bit. "Did you just escape a small mob of your housemates?" he asked her.

"I frequently come here for a quiet study session and to spend time with my friend. Today I had a cloud of nargles following, but I was able to elude them."

Harry cleared his throat. "Luna helped me plan and decorate this place. Let me show you around."

Over in the corner, Hermione asked, "Is this one of the Slow Float Tubes that were in the spell collection?"

"Two of them. They're kind of fun – come on," and he led the way to his bedroom and bath.

The bedroom didn't get much interest from either Neville or Hermione, but the bathroom – finished in slate and with its floor under a permanent warming charm – was a magnet for the two of them. "I wish I had this," Hermione admitted.

"I didn't see any facilities in your place. What do you have?"

"I just use the Gryffindor dorms each morning. It should help disguise that I've left."

Neville was particularly taken with the escape hatch in the floor of Harry's bedroom. Abruptly, he stood, and said, "I've seen enough. Let's go upstairs and talk."

Harry's raised eyebrows were met with a puzzled look on Hermione's face, but they all joined Luna around the study table. Neville began, "I think that it's obvious that each of us had some great ideas for our rooms. Hermione's transportation security is brilliant. Harry, I _want_ your bathroom."

Hermione broke in, "And your greenhouse design is going to be the place we all want to relax." She was openly envious of how his greenhouse room was going to turn out.

Neville smiled, "Thanks." He swallowed, obviously a little uncomfortable at the center of attention. He plowed on, "So I think that we should all redo our rooms as a group effort. Hermione can do the transportation, um, membrane? For each of us, and Harry can do the plumbing, and, well, I could take care of the plants in our areas," he finished with a mumble.

Hermione's eyes caught fire, "Yes! And I could set up the Always-Next-Door portal to link our study rooms, and …"

"I've got some conditions." Harry said flatly. Both his year mates stopped talking and turned to him. "First, I want you," he faced Hermione, "to either accept, or at least, stop objecting to house elves. I've got two bonded to me, and it is by their own choice. They will be happy to help take care of our little house of outcasts, but your crusade makes them unhappy, and I'm not going to put up with that." Hermione looked to be gathering her voice for a massive rant. Harry forestalled that by holding up his hand and extending two fingers. "Second, you get a roommate, Hermione. Luna's contributions to planning are massive, and I don't want to do this without her guidance. If she's not in, neither am I." He sat back.

The objection was in a different voice than he expected. "When you carry off a young lady, isn't it customary to take her into your own room instead of fobbing her off on a friend?" Luna calmly asked. "Winky will be _ever_ so disappointed." Harry's blushing face had Luna giggling.

Harry tried to gather his composure from wherever it may have gone. "It's getting worse for you in your dorms, isn't it." Luna's mirth trailed off as she bowed her head. " _You_ said that you want me to succeed and be happy. _You_ said that you would help me in any way that you can. I can't be happy when you're in danger or unhappy yourself. You can help me best, right now, by helping me have a secure place to live, and by keeping yourself safe."

Luna looked up at Harry through her lashes, and Harry felt a lurch in his chest. _Merlin, she's so beautiful._ He knew that he'd give in to anything she asked right now. _That's_ so _not fair_. "If you insist, Harry," Luna said quietly. "But I get to paint your rooms."

"Okay," Harry said immediately. "But … wait, what?" He blinked, and Neville was openly laughing at him. Hermione was a little more circumspect, but her pitying amusement was still obvious. He sobered quickly, though, and got to the subject that was foremost on her mind.

"Harry, are you enslaving house elves?" Hermione's volume was ramping up throughout the sentence.

Harry knew what was coming next, and really wanted to head it off. "STOP!" His forceful command took everyone by surprise. Well, maybe not Luna. _It's hard to tell with her_. "I have done nothing that They. Didn't. Want." Harry was looking straight at Hermione. "I also realize that what I ask them to do can have long term consequences on their health and happiness. So I have restricted any punishments that they might request to be non-physical. They are not humans, Hermione, even though they are people. They make my life better when I'm helping them be happy – in the way _they_ have chosen."

Hermione objected, "But it's just that they've been conditioned into believing that they …"

"Conditioning or not, this is what they chose. Not you. And _they_ get to choose what they do with their lives. End of story." Harry was adamant. And his argument may have triggered a memory of how she had overreached her friendship, because she let the subject go.

Luna, however, wanted to stir the pot. "But there are some requests from the house elves that Harry just won't allow. It makes Winky and Dobby so sad." Her tone was light and playful, and Harry immediately turned as close to beet red as his skin would allow.

It was difficult to smile fondly and snarl at the same time – Harry gave it his best effort. "Not helping!"

Neville may have sensed an opening here. "And what is it that the house elves desire?"

"They want Harry to make little Potters as fast as he can. Winky wants two babies in the household by the time Harry graduates, with a third by the time his twentieth birthday arrives." Luna's mirth was wildly evident, and she was laughing harder as she went on. "Winky has been pushing Harry to bed me for the past two months. Harry just won't cave into the house elf demands!"

Neville asked, eyes alight, "So, Hermione, are _you_ going to help the house elves get whatever they want?"

Hermione had turned progressively redder as the house elf desires became clearer. "Um … no?" she squeaked. By this time, she was almost as red as Harry.

Neville took them back to the original subject, "So what do you want to do with our rooms?" And that took all four of them into a long planning session. Eventually, they agreed on a plan. Each of the four would have their own Door for travel, controlled by a heavily enchanted ring protected by Notice-Me-Not charms, just like Hermione already had. They would take over the fourth floor of the Divination tower, and that would be the boy's dorms; Hermione's circular room would be shared with Luna, and the bookshelves would be integrated into Neville's greenhouse hideaway. They could either integrate a bathroom into their bedroom areas (the girls were very enthused about that idea) or install the facilities in a separate room they had picked out alongside Neville's area.

Finally, Neville's stomach growled. Harry shook his head to clear it. "We've been at this for hours, guys. Let's break for dinner." Harry smiled in contentment. "And I've got something more to show you when we eat." Luna smiled in appreciation, too. "Dobby!" Harry called.

Dobby popped in, wearing a white toga with some sort of grey splotch on the left breast, a multicolored belt keeping everything (more or less) in place. "Dobby, we'll need to have my menu served to the four of us tonight, if that's possible?"

Dobby nodded enthusiastically. "Does the Great Harry Potter Sir needs tracking charms gone now, or does the Great Harry Potter Sir needs to do that after dinners?"

Harry snapped out of his daze to fully alert. "How many of us have tracking charms right now?" Dobby snapped his fingers in response, and all four of the students had some of their clothes light up. Hermione, in particular, was almost covered in indicators of foreign magic.

Harry frantically began barking out orders. "Dobby, Winky: get rid of these charms now. After that, move my bed and all my things over to Neville's bedroom. Get all of Luna's belongings – even the ones that other people have," he added after glancing at the blonde girl, "and place them in Hermione's room in the tower. After the belongings are secure, remove the Slow Float Tubes in the corner so that this room does not have any doors leading to the bedroom below us. Any questions?"

The two house elves shook their heads and began snapping up a staccato storm, removing the lit magic indicators on the four students. The two elves popped away, and Harry turned to Hermione. "Your room is the most secure place we have right now. Take us there, please?" It wasn't really a request, and Hermione immediately created a Door on the wall.

Once all four were in Hermione's study oasis, Harry explained. "Those tracking charms on all of us seriously violated our security. We spent the entire afternoon sitting in my study area, and so that room is almost certainly discovered. I don't think we can use it any more. Hermione, you had the most charms on you, and you've been here for what, three days now?" At her uncertain nod, her went on, "This room will probably have to be abandoned, too. I don't want to force you into anything, but the possibility of the staff finding us and forcing us to go along with their plans is pretty high. You've found that potions are a real risk, and I think that we'll have to be pretty paranoid if we want to stay free."

Harry swallowed and continued, "Associating with me will put you in more danger than you already are." He looked at the other three. "You need to seriously consider if that's a risk you can afford to take."

Luna got up and walked around Harry. Hugging him from behind, she said, "We already had this discussion, Harry, you are my _friend_. You will never have to be afraid of wrackspurts."

Hermione rolled her eyes in a manner she probably thought was discreet, but everyone ignored her. Neville hesitantly spoke up. "Actually I think that we're better off with allies. If Dumbledore gets to Hermione again, we can … fix it. If I go missing, you will come find me. I think we can be safer with friends, like Luna said."

Harry nodded slowly. "Are you sure? I know you all left the Houses for your own reasons, but you don't have to be dragged into my problems."

Hermione finally spoke. She was still a little red-faced from acknowledging how she had been trapped by potions. "I would feel safer with someone who could rescue me if I get … caught … again."

Harry shrugged. "I won't try to argue you out of it. So – what are we going to do to keep our bedrooms secure?"

Hermione and Neville glanced at each other, while Luna smiled and sat down in one of Hermione's chairs. No one spoke for a moment. Hermione cautiously said, "Well, we need to move, first of all. If we are in the same places, getting rid of the tracking charms won't actually have done any good."

"Ok – then where are we going to go?" Luna settled into the chair further. She waved her hand around at the room. "This is a really good idea. Convincing the castle to …" She was interrupted by the sudden appearance of a large mound of clothes and books next to Hermione's bed. "Oh, my things!" Luna hopped up and began to rummage through the pile.

Neville took up the idea. "I think that Luna was going to say that convincing the castle to stop providing access to our rooms is brilliant. And I agree. We need to completely control the entrance and exits to our rooms, and Hermione has shown a really good way to do that. I don't think that an Always-Next-Door portal is a good idea, though."

"Why not?" Hermione's question was instantly asked.

"Because the constant presence of space distorting magic might be enough of a clue that would lead Dumbledore right to us."

"Oh." The portals were dropped by unanimous acclaim. Hermione's Doors became their default choice.

They began to organize their knowledge about the castle. Six large towers; two taken up by Houses, two named for courses, the clock over the entrance doors for the castle (with no inhabitable places), and one just a few stories tall and inhabited by Dumbledore (nobody had the chutzpah to suggest that they take over a room in that one.) The minor towers were all filled; no room there. The Puffs and Snakes were in the dungeon areas, and nobody thought that those locations were suitable for their stolen rooms. The classrooms were scattered among the remainder of the castle, so there was no area that was completely 'out of the way' or 'unused', although higher floors were much less used. The students discussed several areas of the castle, based on traffic patterns and kitchen or library access. The views from the different castle areas were heavily debated. Finally Luna joined the trio and asked, "What do you want to see out of your windows?"

Hermione looked at her, askance, and said, "We can see anything we want from our windows. There's a window charm in the book."

"So why do you need to pick a place based on that?"

Harry blinked. "Um, right. Hermione," he turned to her, "are you really set on having a room in a tower?"

"Nooo…," she said slowly. "I just thought that it would be easier to eliminate all other access to it."

Neville caught the idea. "So we just need to find rooms that are mostly inaccessible, make them completely inaccessible, and then we can string them together to make our hidden House."

Immediately, all three turned to him. Luna was the first to agree. "I nominate Hidden House as our name." She was immediately supported by Harry and, a moment later, Hermione.

Harry looked around at his … new housemates. _I'm going to like this better than Gryffindor_. He took a deep breath. "Ok, Neville, I think you're the last person here to know about this." He took the Marauder's Map out of his pocket and spread it over Hermione's study table. "I solemnly swear that I'm up to no good …"

The four students eventually planned to take over four rooms throughout the castle: one for their common room, two bedrooms, and a room that would be split into two bathrooms. The only access would be though Hermione's Door spells, and those would be modified to strip off any tracking spells as they came through. Hermione was especially pleased that this would eliminate a house-elf chore. Neville's greenhouse room was going to be their common room, and he immediately retired there to finish his weekend homework; the other three were caught up, and they began the remodeling process.

The girls found a room overlooking the interior courtyard that was hidden behind a broom closet, which was covered by a tapestry. That looked to be easily missed – so they removed the hidden doorway in the back of the broom closet and had the house-elves move all their belongings. Two beds and two wardrobes later, they were secure. Harry simply selected a room on the sixth floor that had previously been someone else's hideaway; the elves were given strict instructions to thoroughly clean _everything_.

"But someone will know that their hide-out is missing!" Hermione objected.

"Well, even if they're still at Hogwarts, who will they complain to?" asked Harry. Luna smiled, nodding. Hermione dropped her objections after that.

They had to break for dinner – and to let Dobby and Winky finish the cleaning – so after a brief stop to get Neville, Harry led them to the Great Hall. The four of them sat at the Gryffindor table, and Harry said to the air, "My special menu, please."

The food appeared, served in a pearl grey crockery, but the smells were more delicate than Neville remembered, and Hermione visibly perked up at the aroma. Harry smirked, and removed the covers from the dishes; thin slices of lamb roast with just a hint of jellied mint sauce, trenchers of bread with an artichoke and spinach spread, pickled beets and carrots, and a cold glass of a mildly tart fruit juice.

Hermione and Neville were very enthusiastic about the menu, but Luna was less so. When asked, she simply said, "No pudding."

Harry smirked. "I'm not the only person that can request dishes. Ask for what you want." Luna immediately held an involved conversation; that the other party wasn't there didn't hinder her in any way.

The older three waited until Luna had set down her spoon ("Important safety tip – do _not_ interrupt Luna's pudding!") and then left to resume their room thefts. The room that was to be the boys' bedroom was now clean and furnished, with Harry's bed installed and Neville's bed moved and set up. The wardrobes were in place and filled with the boys' belongings; now all that was necessary was to be able to actually _enter_ the place.

Hermione made short work of setting up the location of the Doors – but said that the actual enchanting would take an hour for each Door, so she would have to begin tomorrow. After promising to retrieve them in good time the next morning, the girls opened a Door and left, leaving Harry and Neville in their new room.

Harry felt … trapped. _I obviously should. It's just a bigger closet_. "Dobby?"

"Master Harry Potter Sir calls for Dobby?"

"Dobby, is there a trap door out of here?"

Dobby began to fidget nervously. "Wes did not make that yet, Master Harry Potter Sir."

"What are you and Winky doing right now?"

Dobby looked less nervous. "We is fixing old secret rooms so that nobody being wise to what was there."

"Remember the escape door in the floor of my last bedroom?" Dobby enthusiastically nodded. "I want you and Winky to make one just like that here, under Neville's bed. Can you do that for me?"

"Right away, Master Harry Potter Sir!" And Dobby vanished.

"What's the room right under us?" Neville asked.

Harry smirked. "I checked with the Map, and that's the main reason I wanted this room. It will drop us right into a broom closet that is across the hall from a passageway that leads to the ground floor, right outside the main stairs. Very handy for escapes." Neville nodded in appreciation.

It had been a long day. Very shortly, Harry and Neville were out. A few moments later, Dobby popped in and turned down the lights with a proprietary air.


	12. That's New

**Chapter 12: That's New**

 **Saturday, November 25, 1995**

Harry slept deeply, and only gradually became aware that he was in a warm bed, and that his bladder was urgently making itself known. "Urrgh," he groaned. He would have liked to spend a bit more time being lazy, but, well, that wasn't possible any more.

Neville was on his bed, sitting up, dressed, and reading by the low light that was emanating, somehow, from the ceiling, casting no shadows.

"Uh, Nev?"

"Yeah?" Neville turned a page and looked up at Harry.

"Is there any way to get to a loo right quick?"

Neville grinned a bit. "Not until we get a visit from the girls. Gonna entertain me with your pee-pee dance, Harry?"

Harry looked around at the bare walls of their new room. "I just may haveta do that, Neville." Then inspiration struck. Harry used the Tempus charm to discover that it was currently 7:32 in the morning of November 25, 1995, that the current temperature outside was 35 degrees and would reach a high of 48 today, and that sunrise was at 7:47, the sunset was at 4:11 pm, and the lunar phase was currently four days after the new moon; Harry managed to turn it off before if gave him the full astronomical report. "Uggh. Anyway, Dobby?"

Dobby popped into the far corner of the room. "Master Harry Potter Sir wants to talk to Dobby?"

"Yes, Dobby. Could you please ask Hermione Granger to come and let me out of my box?"

Dobby immediately began looking elsewhere in the room – as there wasn't anything else to attract his attention, it was pretty obvious that he was avoiding the question.

"Dobby?"

Finally, Dobby found a way to voice his concern. "The girls of Hidden House are taking showers right now, Master Harry Potter Sir, and Dobby not's wanting to interrupt them."

Harry considered for a moment – which took a great deal of concentration he didn't currently have to spare. "Can you open a door in the wall that leads to a boy's bathroom?"

Spared the thought of intruding on the girls, Dobby broke into a furious nod and a large smile, "Oh yes, Master Harry Potter Sir!" He snapped his fingers.

Harry immediately turned to the new door and barreled through, the door vanishing as soon as he stepped through. Dobby re-created the door to let Harry return, at which point Neville asked him, "Why didn't you use the escape door Dobby made last night?"

Harry was stunned. "I … I … didn't think of that."

"Or you could have just made a loo in the corner – you're the one what can make those without thinking about it." Harry's jaw dropped. Neville didn't stop laughing until breakfast was completely over.

-o-

Their day was spent with finalizing their transportation and security. The bathroom enchantments went quickly, as all but Hermione had experience working them before, and Hermione was needed for making sure that the Door enchantments were working well. The late afternoon had them all relaxing in their common room, talking about any luxuries they might add – the bathrooms being already tricked out with warm slate floors, a whirlpool tub, rather luxurious shower stalls, and nicely lit vanities. The top contenders were a private library, a potions lab, and a spell practice room, but they eventually decided to put those off for a few weeks.

Neville wanted to add some water spigots and drains to aid in plant care, and he and Harry were working out the design while The Girls (as they were becoming known) were collaborating on designing and setting up the bookshelves – while they were currently in the Girl's Dorm; the plan for a House library was a foregone conclusion.

A concentrated dose of Luna had given Hermione a bit of understanding (and Harry hoped, tolerance) of the small blonde's quirks. In return, Luna seemed to be going out of her way to avoid irritating the older brunette.

Harry and Neville had a small conversation of their own. "I appreciate it, I really do but …" Neville sighed.

"Appreciate what?"

Neville gestured around them. "Being a part of this. I just don't get what you want me to do."

Harry met his gaze calmly. "Be our friend. Just like you always have been."

Neville snickered. "You always stun your friends and leave them in a closet overnight?"

Harry laughed, a bit ruefully. "Um, ok, maybe the friendship came later. But, Nev?"

"Yeah?"

Harry met his scrutiny squarely. "I didn't ask you to join us because you're an outcast like the rest of us. I asked because I trust you. I asked because if there's anyone I _expect_ to some to my rescue, if there's anyone I _trust_ to some to my rescue – it's you." Harry sighed. "And we know that I'm going to need rescuing."

Neville turned a little red, but nodded, and the subject was dropped.

-o-

 **Sunday, November 26, 1995**

The foursome had finished their morning ablutions, and walked into the great Hall together… and stopped. Luna said idly, "That's new."

That was, indeed new. Also completely unexpected. Where the four great hourglasses stood to record the House points of the students were now five hourglasses: emerald, sapphire, topaz, ruby, and … some slightly transparent grey stone that softly glowed with almost enough light to cast shadows.

Hermione drew an excited breath. "Moonstone! Also known as hecatolite, glows softly and turns translucent in the presence of magic, used as early magic detectors …" She eyed the hourglass speculatively. Turning to the other three, she examined them as well. "It's official!" Hermione gestured to their ties. "Hidden House is now recognized by Hogwarts, and our ties and robes have changed to match!"

Indeed, their robes now sported grey trim and lapels, and their ties were … largely grey. Hermione's tie had a pearly grey background with blue and red alternating along the edge. Neville's was the same, only with yellow and red bands. Harry saw that Luna's tie had blue and yellow edging, while his own tie … he blinked as he held it up for a better look. Green, yellow and red? _Our House thinks I'm a stoplight?_

The House points showed their new House to be severely behind the larger Houses, with 232 points to around 500 for each of the others. Gryffindor was an exception, as they had plunged from over 650 to just under 400 in the last few days. Luna remarked, "One of Godric's children have been naughty!" in an off-hand tone.

The other three smiled or smirked as their natures demanded, and the members of the new House were confronted by a house-elf that _wasn't_ Dobby or Winky. "Magic House eats in hidden room," the little, bulbous-eyed creature said, and then he touched each of their hands. Hermione, the first touched, visibly started, and the others followed her gaze to see a doorway appear in the rear of the Great Hall. The door, when Harry touched it, was not metal even though it had a silvery sheen, and the lintel had a series of runes that glowed in a deep purple light that was on the edge of perception. Hermione grasped the doorknob and strode in, the others following.

The room stretched about four paces both left and right from the doorway, and was about three paces deep. The table was the same as the other House tables, although not as long, and there was enough space for all four of them to sit so they could face the entrance. Their places were set and the food already served in pearl grey dishes, filling the small room with aromas that made each of the student's stomachs growl.

As they sat down they were startled to find that the wall that stood between them and the Great Hall was transparent – and that they could hear very clearly what was going on in that large room. Harry turned to the house-elf that had followed them in. "Thank you …"

"I is Tweaky," the elf said, and bowed.

Hermione muttered, "Be-de-be-de, be-de-be-de" in a low voice, but Harry ignored it.

"Thank you, Tweaky. I have some questions about Magic House, and I was wondering who I can ask. Can you tell me who …"

"I's can tell youse!" Tweaky was doing a credible Dobby imitation, almost vibrating up and down in excitement. He calmed down enough to add, "Youse can eat while asking and I's being telling."

Harry took a cover off a large dish to find an omelet that he immediately transferred to his plate. Neville immediately followed his example, and the Girls were not far behind. After taking his first bite (a lox and mushroom omelet with a white, pungent cheese and topped with some green herbs, dill being the only one Harry could identify), he asked, "Can any of the other students see or hear us?"

"Oh, noes, Good Master Harry Potter, Sir, this room always hidden from teachers and lower housies. Only Magic House can see Magic House."

Harry immediately turned to Hermione and Luna. Luna's mouth was full – over stuffed, actually – so Hermione filled in, "That implies that this room has been here all the time, and that Magic House was part of the plan for Hogwarts since the beginning."

Tweaky nodded. Enthusiastically, as was his habit, apparently. "Oh, yes! Magic House for Wizards and Witches that grow out of lower houseies and make House for themselves. Magic House not havings students for lots of manys years."

Tweaky went on to explain that students can only join Magic House by leaving their Sorting House and living in their own quarters in Hogwarts. Magic House did not currently have a Head, but that the students could nominate one, and that there were no prefects in Magic House; Magic House was for students that controlled themselves. The students of Magic House, in fact, could all function as prefects over the other houses, if they chose to do so.

The four took their time over breakfast, and Neville waited until the other three had finished before they left their protected dining table. As they walked through the back of the Great Hall, Prof. McGonagall called out, "Miss Granger!" The four stopped and looked at each other, drawing a bit closer to each other as they waited for the Professor to make her way from the front of the Hall.

McGonagall swept her gaze over the four of them, her lips growing thinner as she saw that they were not separating to allow her to talk to Hermione. She huffed, once, then said, "The Headmaster desires to have a word with you, Miss Granger. He will be expecting you in his office immediately following lunch."

Harry responded, "Prof. Dumbledore is not going to meet with Miss Granger without being … monitored. He can meet with her under the supervision of her friends in our dining room."

At McGonagall's raised eyebrow, Neville added, "And if he is unaware of our dining accommodations, we can meet with him in the room immediately across the hall from the Charms classroom. He may not bring Prof. Snape or yourself to witness. Professors Babbling or Sprout will be acceptable, but not both."

McGonagall was immediately offended. "And why would you think you can dictate when the Headmaster calls you to meet?"

Neville responded, "Because it is the Headmaster that wants the meeting; we do not. And it is the Headmaster that attempted to control one of us with potions. We do not trust him, or those that he usually ropes into his plans to control the students." He shrugged. "If he wants to meet with one of us, it will not be in secret, we will not be alone, we will not be outnumbered, and he will be under the watchful eye of a neutral observer."

McGonagall pursed her lips, but departed.

One hour later, Dumbledore strode into the designated classroom, followed by Prof. Sprout.

"Were you not aware of the Magic House dining facilities?" Luna asked. She was ignored.

"Miss Granger," Dumbledore began, "I am at a loss as to why you might distrust me so."

"Because you potioned me – to control me – without my consent," spat Hermione. "Furthermore, the potion you used was an alternative formulation that is only used to coexist with other controlling potions, proving that you knew and tacitly agreed that Ronald Weasley," Hermione's venomous tone was growing very strong at this point, "had the right to make me his toy. You cannot be trusted, and you protesting that you can just proves that you care nothing for any of us."

Prof. Sprout was aghast. "Albus, you didn't!"

Dumbledore made absent gestures at Prof. Sprout, dismissing her concerns, and addressed Hermione. "My dear …" Hermione physically recoiled from his voice, but he continued, "… certain things must happen for the Greater Good." Everyone present could hear the capital letters in Dumbledore's trademarked phrase.

"We will be talking to you about that," remarked Neville, "but this is not the time. What is the topic that made you request this meeting?"

Dumbledore gathered himself, and said, "I am concerned that the four of you have formed your own House. This small act of teen rebellion may have larger consequences than you know, and you have no guidance from the staff to help you along your way."

Harry snorted. "Our House is fully within the traditions of Hogwarts. Our House is named, has separate House colors, and separate House points, all created by Hogwarts. We are apparently able to nominate staff for our Head of House, but we have yet to discuss it," Prof. Sprout was nodding approvingly, "so we will not put forward any names yet. As nominations are our choice, we will not accept you appointing someone without our prior approval."

"You know," Hermione turned in her seat to face the other three students, "the existence of Magic House makes some things in _Hogwarts: A History_ much clearer." She turned to face the two professors. "The last time Magic House was active was in 1734 – excuse me, 1735, but prior to that had a rich history of sheltering students that had difficulty with various aspects of the traditional House structure. Seventeen times in the past, the Head Boy or Girl has been a member of Magic House, and three times Magic House has been the winner of the House Cup." Hermione closed her eyes, chewed her bottom lip for a moment before opening her eyes again, and continuing, "Students must nominate themselves by living within unaffiliated dorms; staff may not force students to return to their former House, and staff may not in any way force students into becoming members of Magic House."

Dumbledore looked somewhat … concussed … by this rapid recitation, but gamely continued, "You are students in the care of Hogwarts, and the staff must be able to contact you at all times and be able to monitor your activities." He sat back, visibly pleased with himself.

Neville, Hermione, and Luna all looked at Harry. He allowed to himself that this was a reasonable requirement, but he still felt that giving Dumbledore access to their dorms was unwise. Both Dumbledore and Sprout also regarded Harry while he thought. A few moments later, he had his answer.

"I am not comfortable with allowing you, Prof. Dumbledore, to have any knowledge or authority about our Lair. We will discuss it as a House and let you know." Prof. Sprout was clearly approving of how their House business was conducted; Neville and Luna were imperfectly concealing smiles at the naming of their dorms.

Dumbledore responded, "I will be holding a staff meeting this afternoon at 3 o'clock. Please be prepared to give your answer at that meeting. It will be held …" He turned to Prof. Sprout.

"It is Prof. Flitwick's turn to host the meeting this week," she put in.

"… in Prof. Flitwick's office. The first thing on our agenda will be your little house rebellion, after which you will be excused. We will expect you there." Dumbledore and Sprout got up and left, with Sprout giving an encouraging smile over her shoulder as she followed him out.

Neville help up his hand as he turned to the rest of his House. "Let's go back to our rooms before discussing this: I wouldn't put it past Dumbledore to tag us and eavesdrop on our planning."

Luna waved her left hand at the wall, and they all followed to The Girl's Room. "So what do we want to tell them?"

Hermione sat down, continuously studying the floor. "I don't trust them. I want to be safe."

Harry looked at Neville and asked, "So how do we keep them off our backs?"

Neville looked first at Harry, then looked at Luna and Hermione. "This isn't the place we need to be; let's move to the Commons." He brought his own Door into being. "When you're ready, join me, and we can hash this out. We have about 5 hours before the meeting, and I don't want to end up saying something that any of you don't agree with."

Harry followed Neville through his Doors, arriving in their greenhouse common room. There were many seedlings beginning to show, and two beds of transplants that were subtly fragrant. Both Harry and Neville exhaled and inhaled once to partake of the invigorating scents. "Neville, you sounded like you know what to do. What's your plan?"

Both Hermione and Luna arrived at that point, and sat down across from Harry to listen to Neville. He said, "Giving Dumbledore access to our Lair is obviously a bad idea. We need to nominate a Head that we can trust, and that will go a long way to shutting him down. We need to have a plan on who is allowed in our Commons, and how emergency communication can be maintained. Aside from that, we need to continually point out that our House colors, points, and table have been provided by Hogwarts, so Hogwarts allows what we're doing."

Hermione nodded along, and Luna was … dreamily watching the ceiling and corners of the room. _Well, she's not_ objecting. Harry decided to attack the first order of business. "So, which member of the staff can we trust to be our Head?"

Hermione obviously went for the organized list. "Well, the Headmaster, Deputy Headmaster, and the four existing Heads are out. That leaves … Sinistra, Vector, Burbage, Binns, Hooch, Hagrid, Trelawney, Filch, Pomfrey, and Pince." _That was … exhaustive._

Luna offhandedly mentioned, "I think we would prefer being comfortable with our Head."

Neville tilted his head as he responded, "I think that means that Binns, Trelawney and … Filch … are out." Hermione visibly ticked their names off her mental list.

Harry added, "Hagrid can't keep a secret and is completely loyal to Dumbledore. And … I'm not sure where Hooch's loyalties lie."

"So we're down to … Burbage, Pomfrey, Pince, Vector, and Sinistra. Are we looking for an active ally, or an indifferent minder?" Hermione's mental list was becoming helpful, Harry felt.

"There are some things that I will not be comfortable sharing, no matter who we get, so I will be keeping secrets in any case," said Harry. Hermione managed to dampen her reflexive twitch at this announcement, and Harry saw that she was at least attempting to respect his autonomy. He continued, "If we could be sure that our Head would respect that, I would welcome an ally. Otherwise, I have to push for someone who will stay out of our business."

Neville hesitantly ventured, "I think that getting our candidate's agreement before we tell Dumbledore would get their cooperation a lot better than making it be a surprise." He glanced at his watch. "We have about 3 and a half hours, excluding lunch, to interviews our choices and make a decision."

Luna said, "Instead of taking time out to eat, maybe we can make lunch part of our process?"

Harry's smile snapped into existence. "A group lunch interview? Great! Dobby!" he called.

"Does Great Master Harry Potter have more work for Dobby?" said the hyperactive assistant.

"Um, yes …" murmured Harry. Regrouping, he asked, "We would like to have a lunch meeting with certain members of the staff. We need invitations to go out to Professors Burbage, Vector, Sinistra …" Harry trailed off, obviously searching his memory for other staff that made their cut.

"Madame Pomfrey and Madame Pince as well," put in Hermione.

"Yeah, thanks. And those two," Harry added as he turned back to Dobby. "We will need a large place to eat and talk, with enough of our special menu for everyone to eat. Can you and Winky get that done for us?"

Dobby nodded with more than his usual enthusiasm, and all the humans in the room began looking at him with alarm. "We's can makes Magic House eating table bigger!" he nearly shouted with joy. "And Winky cans be making lunch feast, Tweaky will be lettings in the ladies, and Dobby will be makings all womens buttons to be bursting for Great Master Harry Potter!"

Neville and Luna began laughing uproariously, while Harry promptly began smashing his forehead against the table. Hermione blushed from her hairline down to well below her collar, and hastily interjected, "Dobby, this is not that kind of meeting. Please deliver the invitations to Professors Burbage, Vector, and Sinistra, and Madames Pomfrey and Pince, that this meeting is to discuss appointing a Head for the new House of Magic. If they are not interested, they need not attend. Is that clear?"

Dobby had stopped demonstrating joy and hyperactivity during Hermione's clarifications, and sulkily replied, "Yes, Master's Grangy." He promptly popped away, leaving Harry to face the dwindling laughter from Neville and Luna, and Hermione's oversized smirk.

Harry just rolled his eyes. He got up and began inspecting the farthest corner of their Common Room, where Neville's bed and water closet used to be. _What are we going to put here?_ he wondered. _Maybe racks of disposable earplugs?_


	13. Constant Vigilance

**Chapter 13: Constant Vigilance**

 **Sunday, November 26, 1995 (continued …)**

The lunch meeting was attended by four professors; Madame Pomfrey declined her invitation with the explanation, "My responsibilities to the entire student body prevent me from being responsible to a small group."

With the four adults admitted, and marveling at the room they had missed for so long, lunch was served, and after the food was distributed, everyone began talking. Harry and Hermione traded off explaining how Magic House came into being, and how it was approved by Hogwarts itself.

"So the Head of House will only need to supervise the four of you?" asked Prof. Vector.

Neville took that one and responded, "Yes, unless and until new members nominate themselves. None of us have any idea if there's a formal process for that, and we have no idea how long this appointment may last once others join the House," he admitted.

Harry put in, "Remember, we just sort of fell into this. We had no idea that Hogwarts would make our escape official."

Prof. Sinistra took her turn to swallow and ask, "How did you get Hogwarts to provide such wonderful food?" She immediately took another bite.

Harry smirked. "I had an opportunity to eat the leftovers from the evening's meal at one point, and I was amazed to find that each House had a different menu. Gryffindor has few vegetables and is focused on spicy meat; Hufflepuff has a lot of creamy sauces, breads, and potatoes; Ravenclaw focuses on subtle seafood dishes; and what we're eating is based mostly on the Slytherin menu. I would have thought that the staff menu would be a lot like this?"

Madame Pince cleared her throat and answered, "I've directed that the staff menu be close to Ravenclaw's; there's a lower chance of damage to books with a menu that has no sauces or soups."

Prof. Burbage asked, "So what do you want out of your Head of House?"

Neville fielded that one. "A good question. We want a staff member that will work for our interests, even against Dumbledore's planning. One of us has been given a loyalty potion by Dumbledore, and he tacitly endorsed putting that same student under a love potion. Bluntly, we do not trust him, and we want an advocate within the staff that will help us keep free of his snares."

Luna broke in with, "We have two house-elves that serve this house, but they are bonded to Harry instead of Hogwarts, so when he graduates, they will leave the castle as well. Right now, they are the avenue that our Head will use to contact us."

Hermione took her turn after that. "Because of Dumbledore's manipulations, we do not feel comfortable with allowing any staff members to have unfettered access to our living quarters, but we will open up our House areas on request to our Head only – as I said, we do not trust the Headmaster, so he and his representatives will not be allowed access under any circumstances." She hesitated, but didn't add anything more.

The staff members glanced at each other, then Prof. Vector asked, "It is likely that the Headmaster will have … requests … about visiting your House rooms and about safety measures in your House. How do you propose to deal with those?"

Harry said firmly, "We will take his advice under consideration, but we will not allow anything that might compromise our security. We all chose to leave our Sorting Houses, remember, because we felt safer away from staff supervision – we will not allow Dumbledore's stupid plots to put any of us in that situation again. To be specific, Dumbledore and his supporters will never be allowed to visit any rooms of Magic House. Dumbledore will also never be allowed any unmonitored communication with any of us. Any meetings with the man will be under supervision and he will be alone; none of his meetings will be in secret, nor will he be allowed to have secret conversations with any of us."

"You seem quite determined on those points, Mr. Potter," observed Prof. Sinistra.

"Well, yes," admitted Harry. "We have all left our former Houses so we could concentrate on our studies; having to deal with the conspiracies and manipulations that Dumbeldore spins makes our schooling much more difficult than it needs to be."

The food was largely consumed at this point, and everyone sat back to rest while the interview went on – both ways; the Professors were just as eager to interview the students as the other way around. Finally, Madame Pince said, "I, for one, would like to see what you have created for your House rooms. May we have a tour?"

Luna shrugged. "Why not? Please follow me!" And she waved her hand at the wall right beside the doorway leading to the Great Hall. The Professors murmured among themselves at the black Door that appeared, and Luna stepped through, followed by Harry, Hermione, and Neville.

All the Professors followed them through to the Girls' Room, spreading out slightly, but still clumped around the entry alcove. Hermione announced, "This is the Girls Dorm for Magic House. The Boys Dorm is substantially the same. As you can see, the room is fairly Spartan, and the only way in or out is through our Door spell – each of us can activate one, and all the rooms of Magic House are distributed separately throughout the castle."

After a short period of inspection, Luna created another door, announcing, "Next!"

The group followed into the Girls' Lav, and the response from the Professors was much more excited than the Dorms. The Professors – all of whom were female, Harry realized – were in rapture over the heated floor, the whirlpool tub, and the lit vanities. Prof. Burbage left off her minute inspection of the facilities, and whirled to turn on the students. "Who created this? It's wonderful!" Harry slowly raised his hand, and she asked, "Can you do this to my watercloset?"

Harry smirked. "Of course, for any renovations we are asked to do, we would have to put our Head of Houses' needs first. But after that, we might be persuaded …"

Prof. Vector laughed at Harry and patted the side of her nose with the index finger. "I was wondering who your token Slytherin was."

Harry was feeling pretty safe and secure, so he admitted, "That was the first choice that the Sorting Hat gave me. But I'd already met Draco Malfoy, so I insisted on going anywhere else." The other former Gryffindors looked skeptically at Harry. _Oh, yeah, I never told them that._

Neville raised his hand, opened a Door, and led the troupe into the Boys' Dorm. "While we've had these put together only for a night, we don't think that we're going to be doing much to spiff up the dorm rooms. We obviously put a lot of thought into the lav accommodations, and we figure that most of our time will be spent in our Common Room – which is where we're going next." Without giving time for much inspection, he created another Door, and led them to the Lair.

"We have named this room our Lair," Luna said brightly. "We think that thanks to Neville, this will be the best study room in the castle."

All four adults looked around in approval. "I think so, too," admitted Prof. Sinistra.

Prof. Sinistra peered closely at the massive window. "This doesn't look like a normal window. How did you create it?"

Neville made his way through the others to speak with the Astronomy Professor. "I was a little worried about structural stability, so instead of making a window, I made the blocks of the castle transparent …" Neville and the Professor were soon deep in discussion of spectrum filtering and indexes of refraction; obviously, she was thinking of a closed observatory for her classes. The others all wandered around, looking at the plant beds and the view. Finally, Neville noticed that he needed to get back to House business.

"So, does Magic House have any candidates for Head of House?" he asked.

Prof. Sinistra was the first to respond, "I really shouldn't be your Head. My schedule doesn't lend itself to the position."

Harry raised his hand to interrupt. "Do you mind if we have a quick house discussion?"

All four adults nodded their agreement, and the students clumped in a group at Harry's gesture. "Hermione, do you mind if we declare the Door spell a House secret, not to be shared?"

She nodded, a little puzzled. "Why?"

Harry explained his reasoning, "So we can hand over all the other spells we used in construction, as a kind of consolation prize. That will give us a few more allies among the staff, and we can avoid making enemies."

Neville was the first to nod by a scant margin; the decision was popular among the students.

Harry turned to face the Professors; without a word, Neville made a quick exit out a Door. Harry explained to the staff, "We don't want you to feel bad about having to turn us down; we really appreciate that you made our needs a priority in your decision. So Neville is getting a copy of all the spells we had access to for construction of our House, and you will all get copies simply as thanks for considering us. You'll be able to make whatever changes to your classrooms and quarters you want without having to bribe us or compete for our attention."

Neville was back before the thanks from the Professors had been given. "I've got one copy, but we need, what … four?"

Madame Pince took off her hat and retrieved her wand from the inner lining. She quickly made the duplicates they needed. Harry handed her a copy and asked in a low voice, "You had access to all these spells for the past century; why do you need this packet?"

The librarian tilted her head to the side slightly, showed a vague, soft smile, and said, "Perhaps …" Harry decided to defer that line of questioning. She raised her voice to the room and continued, "I was never a good candidate for your Head of House. But I appreciate being considered."

"Well, that just leaves the two of us," said Prof. Burbage. "How do you suggest we settle this?"

Prof. Vector moved closer to Prof. Burbage. They both raised privacy charms and spoke energetically to each other, then dismissed the spells. Prof. Vector laid out their decision. "We both feel that the Headmaster will put up a fight regardless of who you nominate, and so we've come up with this plan: You will first nominate me as your Head of House, and we expect that there will be a lot of opposition among Dumbledore's clique. You will then drop me as your chosen candidate, and Prof. Burbage will 'reluctantly' offer to take the position. In return," she winked at the students, "I get to have my watercloset renovated to my specifications next weekend, and when Charity quizzes you about all your adventures, I get to sit in. Deal?"

Neville and Luna laughed out loud; Harry and Hermione smirked. "Deal," agreed Neville. He looked at his watch. "We have a few hours before the staff meeting. Would you like to sit Harry down now?" Both professors had looks of glee and promptly sat at the large study table. Harry shot Neville a dirty look – and a smirk; both knew he was only mildly annoyed, and they had planned for this "sweetener" to get one of the Heads they wanted.

Hermione said, "I've been through all of this; can I help you get to your offices?" she asked Madame Pince and Prof. Sinistra. They all got up and left through Hermione's Door. Luna snuggled close to Harry and pulled his arm around her shoulders, and Neville settled in on Harry's other side.

"Well," Harry began, "it was Halloween of my first year …"

-o-

Harry was leading up to the discovery of the entrance of the Chamber of Secrets when Hermione tapped him on his shoulder. "It's time to go," she informed him. His recitation of his adventures had been seriously drawn out by the incessant questions by his audience and the additions by Neville and Hermione – she had scarcely let two sentences go by without adding in her own point of view towards the beginning. Luna was still curled up against Harry's chest, almost in his lap.

The two Professors exchanged glances as they rose from the table, and Prof. Vector said, "Lose the smirk, Charity. We're really going to have to sell this to pull it off."

"But, but … Urgh!" Prof. wildly gestured to convey her excited frustration.

Prof. Vector took Burbage by the shoulders and looked her square in the face. "You have just gone outside from your home to rest in your garden early in the morning to watch the sun rise. You settle in to your favorite chair with a cup of warm tea, and you can see that the sky is warming with a brilliant pink cloud among the golden sun's rays." Prof. Burbage was sporting a vacant, dreamy smile by this time. "And as the sun rises, you see the little bodies of your garden fairies laid out on the leaves of their flowers … lifeless, expressions of indescribable pain on their little faces. Before you can look around to see what's happened, the last fairy flits on broken wings into your hands, and dies in your palm."

Burbage's face was full of horror, her eyes wide and filling with tears, "What could … how …"

Vector went on, "It didn't really happen, Charity. But how do you feel that I made you imagine such a thing?" Charity Burbage's expression hardened, the tears disappearing to reveal eyes harder than flint. Vector pointed her forefinger so that it touched Prof. Burbage's nose. "Hold that thought." She turned to the students, who were fairly gob-smacked by this byplay. "The hallway outside of Flitwick's office, please?"

Luna immediately waved her left hand. The Door took them to the Girl's Dorm, where Hermione created a new Door that took them to a familiar corridor on the third floor. The two Professors, faces now blank, moved around the students and strode into Prof. Flitwick's office. Neville put out a hand to stop Harry from following. "Snape will be here. Don't react to him. Let me lead," he said in a quiet voice. Harry nodded, and Luna moved from behind him to walk next to Neville, leaving Harry and Hermione at the rear of their group. The door to Prof. Flitwick's office was closed, and the Door to Magic House had dissipated, leaving the four students waiting in the hall.

While the wait seemed long, it was in actuality only a few minutes before the door opened, and Prof. Flitwick beckoned them inside. Facing a large table with all the gathered Professors, Dumbledore began, "I believe that I informed you that this staff meeting would serve as a preliminary hearing on the continued existence of your little house? Why were you not attending at the beginning of this meeting?" Harry noted that only McGonagall was not sporting a disapproving look at the Headmaster's words.

Neville idly asked in a mild tone, "Surely you are not suggesting that we invade Prof. Flitwick's office without an invitation, or attend a teacher's meeting without specific authorization?"

Dumbledore's expression became blank – obviously a deliberate choice. Harry was immediately aware that there was some sort of social game being played, and he suspected that Dumbledore had not expected any of them to know the rules; and that Dumbledore had just lost points. _Ha!_

"We are now discussing the unlawful formation of this 'Magic House', and the official response we will issue to disband it," intoned the Headmaster.

"That is incorrect," put in Neville, in the same tone as before. "As the Headmaster is willfully misleading all of you, I believe that a quick summary will bring all the relevant information before the staff," and here he leisurely turned to look at Dumbledore, "so they may make an _informed_ decision. If I may continue?" Dumbledore irritatedly waved assent. "When Prof. McGonagall chose to relinquish her Head of House duties, she was aware that Mr. Potter and I were no longer listed on the rolls for Gryffindor House. Prof. Babbling, as one of her initial acts as Head of Gryffindor House, offered both Mr. Potter and myself the option of returning to Gryffindor House, and we both declined." The involved professor was nodding along with this. "Shortly after, Miss Granger also withdrew from Gryffindor, and then Miss Lovegood withdrew from Ravenclaw."

Professor Flitwick had a regretful look on his face, but did not seem surprised. Snape mumbled something, but Harry followed instructions and did not pay attention.

"We met together and discussed our respective accommodations last week, and we decided to consolidate to ease our needs for security and to reduce the space we would be taking in the castle. This morning, we were all quite surprised to find our lapels and ties had changed, and a new hourglass in the entry to the Great Hall. As we entered for breakfast, a house elf informed us of the existence of Magic House, that we were part of it, and some of our responsibilities in regard to our new House. The Headmaster met with us and protested that we needed to be able to be contacted by the staff and we must be under staff supervision, so we were to attend this meeting and give our solutions for those problems. And," Neville added looking at his watch, "now that it is three o'clock, we are here as requested to present our solutions to these concerns."

 _Go, Neville!_

Neville continued, "Is there anything missing, misleading, or incorrect in what I have related, Headmaster?"

Albus Dumbledore shook his head.

Neville seemed to be playing to an unseen crowd as he continued, "The Headmaster had indicated that he has no objections and nothing to add to our recollection of events. Are there any questions or objections before we continue to Magic House business?"

Professor Grubbly-Plank asked, "Why does your security concern you? Are you in some danger within Hogwarts?"

Neville nodded. "Prof. Babbling indicated to all of Gryffindor that Prof. McGonagall's announcement of Mr. Potter's invocation of a higher power," there were various nods around the staff table as they followed, "was calculated to separate Mr. Potter from all social support. That was persecution and bullying from the Deputy Headmaster of Hogwarts. Headmaster Dumbledore has potioned Miss Granger,"

"Against my will, with a loyalty potion. And he did it in such a way that we know that he was aware that I was also dosed with a love potion, and he condoned it." Hermione's tone as she cut in was flat, hard, and dripping with venom.

Neville smoothly took back the lead with, "Which is why the Headmaster may not have access to our House. We simply cannot trust him. As for myself and Miss Lovegood, we both have been the targets of increasing hostility in our former Houses, and we chose to leave rather than fight against our former housemates."

The majority of the staff were subtly nodding, but the Headmaster's expression was getting darker, and his eyes were noticeably lacking a twinkle of any sort.

"We do agree that we need an adult to lead our house, so after interviewing – and being interviewed," Neville hastily added, "we are nominating Professor Sinistra Vector as our Head of House."

"I cannot allow this," Dumbledore immediately ruled.

"Why are you objecting?" asked Neville.

"This addition of another House, one that has not been seen in living memory, will confuse the students and reduce confidence among their parents that Hogwarts transmits the traditions of our people."

Neville shook his head. "You object to the existence of our House, so you veto the appointment of a Head? We did not ask to form a recognized House. Headmaster, are you able to remove the gem counter? Can you direct Hogwarts to remove the Grey from my lapels?"

Dumbledore refused to address the subject. "I cannot countenance an upheaval that will bring unrest to our students."

Neville smiled thinly. "The knowledge that you actively allow your female students to be raped and that you use a liquid imperious curse to get your own way will destabilize both students and their parents a great deal, Mr. Dumbledore. If you are able to dissolve Magic House, please do so, Headmaster – we would prefer it. Until that is accomplished, we will comply with our obligations and nominate Prof. Vector as our Head."

While Dumbledore was spluttering about Neville's characterization of his actions, Prof. McGonagall asked, "Why did you select Prof. Vector as your Head?"

Luna shrugged, "She was the one who agreed when we asked. We all feel that Prof. Vector will help us achieve our goals, and she is willing to take on the position. It isn't a very complex issue, Professor."

Prof. Sprout directed her question to Prof. Vector. "Have you inspected their accommodations? They are safe, aren't they?"

"I did, Pomona – their common room is spacious, but not overlarge, and is quite relaxing. The dorms are both complete, but Spartan, and the washrooms are … _quite_ nice." The praise of washroom facilities caught the attention of both Prof. Sprout and Prof. Hooch, and they bend their heads together, asking questions in mutterings that no one else could make out.

Prof. Snape's mutterings, however, rose to an audible level. "Of course, _Mr. Potter_ and his _friends_ are going to get special privileges!" He began with a pair of sneers and ended in a near shout.

Neville put his hand on Harry's shoulder to remind him – Neville had this. "On the contrary, Prof. Snape; we are asking you to bend all your skills into forcing Hogwarts to end this. If, however, your skills are not up to the task, we will reluctantly fulfill our obligation to Magic House and nominate a Professor as Head." Luna's look of admiration toward Neville wasn't caught by anyone else, but Harry saw both the look and the increasing smile on her face.

The Headmaster had recovered from Longbottom's initial verbal assault and was back in the fray. "This has the potential to undo all our efforts to unite the students, and cannot go forward!"

The discussion got even more heated from there. Neville and Luna, with an occasional assist from Hermione, continued to insist that Hogwarts herself was why Magic House had appeared. Until the staff, led by Prof. Dumbledore, were able to convince Hogwarts otherwise, Magic House was an established reality. Professors Dumbledore and Snape tried to argue that Magic House was a fraudulent fabrication, but were effectively demolished by Hermione's command of the contents of _Hogwarts: A History_.

Harry sat and let the words wash over and through him. The issue for him wasn't how the house was to be governed – it was security. _It's not like I have a problem ignoring stupid adults_. With or without a head, his dorms were not going to be invaded by staff or their minions; he simply refused, and began thinking of offensive measures to discourage and track intruders. A new voice brought him out of his introspection.

"And I will not for a moment concede that Miss Granger _has_ recreated the Doorway of Khepera, but the lax security between the two dorms cannot be allowed in Hogwarts!" Prof. Flitwick was standing on his chair leaning on the table with his left arm, right fist in the air as he yelled.

Luna rolled her eyes at her former House leader. "If you truly believe that the dormitory security prevented any activity at all, you should be forced to perform the Ritual Abasement in the Ravenclaw commons. That is such a stupid statement, I actually felt the collective intelligence of this committee drop as you emitted your witless screeching!"

Harry had never heard such scathing contempt from Luna before, but he moved to intervene. Putting his hand on her shoulder to cut off her rant, he said, "Luna and I scouted empty rooms throughout the castle to determine the best locations for our new accommodations. We found no less than six rooms set up as love nests for upper years, one of which was decorated in such an awful fashion, I suspect that someone took their cues from the Headmaster's robes." He forced an artful wince to make his point.

"My robes are the height of fashion!" protested Dumbledore. Nobody paid any attention to this statement.

Harry continued, "And that is just the rooms we were able to casually approach, so there are probably more that are hidden, and others that have not been permanently established. While not being personally involved, I can testify of my own knowledge that your typical security to prevent physical romance is a joke." He surveyed the staff, who were looking at him as if he had just given the Malfoy family an endorsement. "Our rooms are still a work in progress; we have only inhabited them for one night. I agree that the security of our students needs to be increased, and we will work on that. We will report our progress to our Head of House."

"I will need to inspect these arrangements, of course," chimed both Dumbledore and Flitwick.

Hermione immediately responded, "No."

Her flat refusal triggered an outsized protest, but it was eventually made clear to the staff that the only person allowed to inspect the Magic House dorms would be their Head of House. Luna ended Dumbledore's protests by gently saying, "Headmaster, you seem to think that this is a negotiation. It is not. We are telling you the rules of Magic House, and that we are willing to work with our Head of House. We have nominated a professor for that position. Will you appoint them as our Head?"

Prof. Dumbledore fumed and glared around the room at the staff, obviously unwilling to go along with the student's choice. Prof. Burbage made eye contact with Prof. Vector, and spoke up for the first time at the meeting. "I can do it, if nobody else will," she said in a tired tone. Dumbledore gestured to her, and said, "I will accept your offer. Students, the new Head of Magic House," he had a visibly sour reaction to saying that name, "is Prof. Burbage." He paused and looked around the room, turning back to the students to say, "You are now dismissed."

The four students with grey lapels filed out the door in stages; Neville and Hermione made their way to the door while Harry and Luna stayed seated, and then Harry and Luna joined them while they waited. It was a calculated show of disrespect and mistrust, having someone always watching to insure that there would be no surprise attacks.

And it was obviously recognized as such by Dumbledore. Harry didn't care: both Dumbledore and Snape openly had their wands in their hands. Harry smirked – _Constant Vigilance is more than a motto, it's a life style. Even if it was Barty Crouch that taught us._


	14. Public Distrust

**Chapter 14: Public Distrust**

 **Sunday, November 26, 1995 (continued still …)**

"OK – so why was Dumbledore so opposed to Vector as our Head?" The four were safely back in their Lair, sipping a warm citrus drink, trying to shed the stress of the confrontational meeting with the staff.

"I don't know, Hermione," Harry admitted. "What is the difference between Vector and Burbage?"

Luna and Hermione exchanged glances. Both of them were taking Runes, but only Hermione had any experience with Burbage through her third year attendance in Muggle Studies.

"Well, Prof. Vector is … sharp. She's very insightful, and is usually many steps ahead of … most of us when we're working out how runes interact with each other." Luna gave qualified praise for her instructor.

"And that talent came out in how she manipulated Dumbledore into appointing Burbage," Neville pointed out. "It's pretty clear that Dumbledore doesn't want her insight on our side. And it's pretty clear that Dumbledore doesn't believe that Burbage has comparable skills."

"She was pretty … wet … when Vector settled her down for the staff meeting," observed Hermione.

"But once Burbage harnessed her emotion instead of letting it control her, she was sharp and focused," pointed out Harry. He paused. "Do any of you know what House she was originally in?" he asked.

"Why?" asked Neville.

As usual, Luna was already ahead of Harry. "Because the thing that holds us together as a House is loyalty – to each other, and to the desire of being safe. If Prof. Burbage was a Huffepuff, then gaining her loyalty will allow us to trust her better – and if her loyalty is assured, she will be able to use her political insights to better effect."

Hermione blinked a few times. "It's true … Prof. Burbage has taught about muggle science, philosophy, literature, and culture. If she wasn't so intent on having a fun class, she could give Vector a run for her money."

It was Luna and Neville's turn to blink in confusion. "Eh, what?"

Harry explained the muggle saying, "It means that Burbage would be competitive with Vector as far as how hard the class would be."

It was about half an hour later when Winky popped in. "House's Head is wanting to meet with youse." Harry took the call, and went to open a Door for Prof. Burbage. She was shortly plopping down in a seat in their Lair. " _That_ was the hardest meeting I've ever been in!"

"Why? What happened?" asked Neville.

"Snape was completely out of control for the rest of the meeting, always asking why your four get special treatment, demanding that Magic House be disbanded. I finally asked him if he could remove the point counter from the Great Hall. That shut him down!"

Hermione asked, "What about the rest of the staff? How are they taking," She gestured around at the Lair, "all this?"

"They are aware that all of you have been, essentially, driven out of our original houses and that this is a catch-all measure for Hogwarts to keep you as part of the House system." She paused. "Look for Slytherins and Ravenclaws to try and join us when this is announced over supper tonight. How will we handle this?"

Luna, Neville, and Hermione looked at Harry, who ran his hand through his hair. "Some of them will be trying to join Magic House for the prestige, probably; _I'm a member of the House that only admits_ special _people!_ " Harry parroted in a high voice. "They're out. Don't need them. Snape will probably try to dump all the students he doesn't like on us – don't need them either."

Hermione cautioned, "And if we let it out that we're in Magic House because we fear for our safety, some students will be in danger simply because their housemates will know there is a way to drive them out." She shook her head. "This is going to get messy."

Luna piped up, "So joining Magic House is by invitation only. If we want you, we'll find you." She narrowed her eyes. "And no Nargles!"

Harry smiled a bit, and pulled the smaller girl to his side. "Good point, Luna. It's a house secret, and any new members have to have unanimous approval to join. If you feel that someone will make you feel less safe, they don't get in."

Prof. Burbage nodded slowly. "I can see your concerns. Now for the next issue." All the students looked at her intently. "For some reason, Prof. Flitwick is extremely set on insuring that no males can enter the female dorms. I can easily see how your Doors can defeat every security system in Hogwarts right now."

Harry and Neville looked at each other, shocked. "I never even thought of that," confessed Neville.

"Me, either," Harry said.

"So – what are we going to do about it?" asked their Head.

"Well," Harry said slowly, "we could add an alarm if a boy is in the Girl's Dorm, but I don't know how to prevent the Doors from opening up in the Girl's Dorms of any of the Houses. Is that even possible?"

Hermione was, of course, who everyone looked at next. "I don't think so," she mused. "If we let the staff inspect the Door spell, then they might be able to set up a ward or charm against it, but …" she sighed. "I don't want them in our dorms. If they have the Door, Dumbledore is going to potion me again. Or worse," she ended, growling.

"We cannot circulate the Door spell outside of our House. So the only restraint on the Door is the user. Would we consider a binding oath on all male students in Magic House?" Once again, Luna had laid out the bottom line.

Harry looked at Neville, who was looking down at his lap and biting his lip. "I think it would depend on the oath," said Neville. "There are a lot of ways that an oath can be worded, and each change allows for a different way for Dumbledore to mess with us."

"I agree," put in Harry. "Swearing an oath just invites Dumbledore to attack us in some way. I don't want to swear any oath, and I suspect we would be better off if we don't even bring that up as an option."

Luna said, in her typically airy and distracted tone, "So add Magic House to the secrets of Magic House, and they can add the same alarm that we have if they're feeling scared. Any objections?"

Harry, Neville, and Hermione all shook their heads. Burbage added, "And I agree. I'll make sure that the rest of Hogwarts staff knows what we're willing to offer. Two more things; first, we need to establish a formal way that I can contact you."

Neville immediately called, "Winky!"

"Friend Neville Sir!" was the immediate response as she popped into view. Hermione turned her head so that she was not looking at the house-elf; while she was silent about house-elf service, she was still uncomfortable with their subservient attitudes.

Harry received the look from Neville and took over. "Winky, we need you to make sure that every time Prof. Burbage wants to talk to us or to come here, you let us know so we can do what she says."

Winky considered. "Is Magic Head helping Great Master Harry Potter Sir making Potter babies?"

Harry rolled his eyes and refrained from smashing his head into a hard object. "No, Winky," he sighed. Prof. Burbage was visibly smirking at him, along with everyone else in the room.

"Winky does it," she said, sadly, popping away.

"And second?" prompted Hermione.

"If I am to be Head of your House, you will all need to gather at the entrance to Hogwarts tomorrow morning at 6 am. Wear clothing that allows for easy movement."

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "For what reason?"

"While the castle forces students to be somewhat physically active, the four of you have developed a way to avoid that effort. I will be insuring that you start each day with endurance training."

Hermione's expression supplied her missing words, as her jaw dropped and her face paled.

In a lower voice (that Harry, at least, could still hear), Prof. Burbage went on, "I am aware of how you study interminably, Miss Granger. Mental acuity and mental stamina are subsets of physical stamina. You will be able to study better and retain more if you are physically fit." She smiled gently. "And I am not going to allow you to shortchange yourself."

Neville's mouth twitched. "And I suppose that a head of house with the best performing students gets a certain level of … respect?"

Offhandedly, Prof. Burbage said, "Well, yes. But I also placed a rather hefty set of wagers on the performance of you three this year." Charity Burbage smiled, and while Harry had never seen one, he now felt rather familiar with the grin of a shark. He barely was able to keep from shuddering.

-o-

Dinner was less enjoyable than it could have been. For one, Tweaky directed Magic House to sit at a table at the front of the Great Hall, rather than hidden away at their usual table. _Usual – after one morning?_ The meal began with the Headmaster's announcement-slash-propaganda effort.

"I am sorry to inform you, students, that Hogwarts has been forced to create another House for students. This 'Magic House', as they have chosen to be named, currently has four students." Dumbledore waved his hand to indicate the four at their table. "They will be following the classroom schedules that they were given at the beginning of the year, and will be supervised by Professor Burbage as their Head of House."

Neville whispered, "Cover me," as he stood up. Dumbledore, surprised, fell silent for a moment, which was all it took for Neville to smoothly interrupt. Hermione had used her wand to cast a spell that made Neville audible to all present.

"What our Headmaster isn't telling you is that Hogwarts had assigned us this house because we can no longer trust in the Headmaster." Dumbledore's surreptitiously cast spell bounced off a shield that Luna had placed on Neville's back. "If you object to the creation of another House within Hogwarts, just like we do, please use whatever pull you have to force our Headmaster to eliminate Magic House, so we can go back to the arrangements we had before," Neville waved vaguely at the table, "all this." He sat down as Harry stood. Hermione and Luna were quick off the mark for him as well, barely deflecting a spell from hitting Harry.

"It should be obvious that the Sorting Hat was not involved in placing us here. We just woke up this morning to find that the color of our ties has changed. We've spent a lot of time today setting up all the rules that a House needs, so if you are interested in joining Magic House, we will be able to interview you this evening. We'll be using one of the rooms right outside the Great Hall." Dumbledore gave a sharp look at Prof. Burbage, who mimed a look of, "I have no idea," right back.

"We have banded together as outcasts. Joining me probably isn't the safest thing you could do." He sat down with that last statement, and Dumbledore sat as well (after a spectacularly, but momentary, dirty look), allowing dinner to be served. The buzz throughout the Hall was palpable, although Harry noticed that it didn't impact food consumption (much).

As the evening meal wrapped up, Prof. McGonagall came down from the staff table and spoke to them. "Prof. Dumbledore will need to speak with you before you interview students for your House." She was quite tight-lipped and curt with them.

Harry looked at his housemates; they nodded to let him take the lead. "Same restrictions. We'll be in a room across the hall, in ten minutes." The Deputy Head hesitated a moment, then nodded and left.

"OK," said Hermione, "we'll need a bunch of made up questions that imply secret power or knowledge. Ready?" Neville and Harry turned to Luna, who had a big smile. She got up, patted her lips with her napkin, and not-so-calmly walked toward the doors of the Great Hall. The older three followed her, much more sedately.

They almost had to fight their way across the hallway – a distance of about 12 feet – because of the press of students. There were a few shouted questions, but the students in grey ignored them. Finally, they were able to slip into a small-ish room and shut the door. Hermione opened her mouth – to begin an annoyed rant, Harry assumed, but he put his hand up to stop her. "I need," he said loudly to the room, "all tracking and listening spells removed from us." In response, they clearly heard the ghostly sound of house-elf fingers snapping away. "Okay, Hermione. You were about to say?"

She was a little less demanding in her resumed rant. "So what's this about adding people to Magic House? Don't we get a say in this? Because you know, the security of a secret drops any time somebody else learns about it, and the WHOLE POINT of Magic House is to keep us safe, and …"

Harry held up his hand again. "I'm not suggesting that we let anybody in to Magic House. I'm not sure we even _can_ do that. But if we don't make it look like we're open to recruitment, we'll get flooded with students that are demanding to get in on this new House. So we're going to interview them, ask them questions they can't answer, and then tell them that if we are ever open to students with their profile, we'll get back to them. Oh, and," Harry raised his voice again, "we'll need two of my rolls of parchment, two quills, and two bottles of ink."

"What do you mean about the questions?" Neville was completely at sea.

Luna was ready with an explanation. Several, actually. "Like, what's your Hammerstein Magical Index? Or, where are you placed on the Drusellian Magical Classification?"

Hermione nodded thoughtfully. "Or, when is the hibernation period for the Crumple-horned Snorkack?"

"Actually, that one wouldn't work," explained Luna. "Just about everyone that I've talked to refuses to accept the existence of the Crumpled-horn Snorkack, so their first reaction is to think that we're giving them impossible questions. My examples actually do have a legitimate answer – to admit ignorance of the Index, for example, because it doesn't exist."

Harry broke in, "I can't let myself deceive people – at least, not on purpose. All of our questions have to have legitimate answers that the students can answer – but if the correct answers force them to go against their own pride or are just things they don't want to say, that's fine."

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "Why, Harry? What is so important about deception?" She was not one of Harry's confidants any more, and it still visibly irked her.

Harry's response was a little gentler than he would have been, ordinarily. "I have chosen some standards for my behavior. My life, my choice. I would appreciate it if you didn't make me a party to deception or lying by association, either."

At this point, Dumbledore faded into view just inside of the door. He was noticeably startled by the four wands that were immediately pointed at him. "My boy – all of you – this is quite unnecessary!"

"On the contrary," said Neville, "you are here, deliberately violating our conditions for meeting with you. We have ample reason to distrust you; this is how it's going to work …"

"Mr. Longbottom, we have scarcely begun to talk about …"

"We know what you want to talk about – and we're not talking. You are here to observe the interviews to satisfy your curiosity about what we're up to. We have conditions." Neville was uncompromising, possibly because he was still jumpy about Dumbledore's entrance.

Dumbledore waited a while. "Name them."

"You will sit in that corner, under an illusion to prevent anyone from knowing that you are here. You will cast no magic with or without a wand, or through any device. You will also remain silent until all interviews are over. For our part, we will conduct the interviews as quickly as we can." Luna's usual airy voice was hard and uncompromising. Her wand was also rock steady as it tracked Dumbledore's small movements.

Dumbledore gave a put-upon sigh. "Very well." He twirled his wand to produce a high backed, overstuffed chair in the corner. Sitting in it, he waved his wand again, and disappeared from view. Harry had never seen invisibility done so well – without his cloak, anyway.

Hermione disabused him of that idea quickly, sniffing, "Illusions. That's how he got in here without us noticing the door opened." _Well, this was a_ very _good illusion, then._

The students pulled out a desk and elongated it so they could all four sit behind it, Luna, Harry, Hermione, and Neville. Two open rolls of parchment, two quills and ink, and a chair facing the desk – they were ready. Luna went to the door and called in the first student.

Harry went straight for the important question; "Why do you want to join the House of Magic?"

After a few interviews, the answers seemed to fall along House lines – Gryffs wanted in on the new 'thing', whatever the adventure was; 'Claws were interested in how belonging to a rediscovered House would enhance their career prospects, and Snakes were using the new House as a base for machinations galore. Rarely did an interview go on beyond two questions, and none made it past three. (Question two, always offered by Luna, was, "In a dispute between Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore, who do you support?" And no student gave the correct answer, "Whoever is correct." The third question, asked by Neville or Hermione, was something along the lines of, "Why should we accept you into the House of Magic?", which always produced befuddlement. Harry was not comfortable with the deceptive questions they had worked on, so they were quietly dropped.) Everything ticked along nicely, Harry looking at his watch twice, while students filed in and out.

The trend was broken when a girl entered, face tear-stained, asking, "What do I have to do to join you?" Harry found her face familiar, but couldn't remember ever speaking to her before, and her name completely escaped him. She looked like she was under a great deal of stress, and her robes showed that she was a Gryff.

She smiled bitterly. "I'm Sally-Anne Perks. I'm one of the forgotten students."

Neville quietly asked, "What do you mean?" Harry could tell that Neville was _very_ interested in this interview, all of a sudden.

"I have been in Gryffindor for five years now, and I've never had a friend. I've always been ignored by my roommates and in classrooms. What do I have to do?"

Harry and Hermione exchanged glances. "I always thought that you didn't want to talk …" Hermione murmured to Sally-Anne.

"Every time I opened my mouth, Lav or Pav would hit me with a voice changing hex!"

Neville broke in to the exchange, asking, "Did you talk to your new head of house about this?"

"No."

"Why not? McGonagall didn't really care, but Babbling has shown that she handles these kind of things."

Miss Perks was quiet for a bit. Then, "I haven't talked to her."

Harry smiled understandingly. "I know that talking about anything to McGonagall was hard. She always made me feel like I was guilty of something, even when I wasn't. But … I'd trust Babbling. I think she's serious about house unity and getting along and all that."

"Then why aren't you back in Gryffindor?" she shot back.

Harry's smile turned … wry. "Because my solutions aren't as easily solved as yours."

"Huh … what?"

"The House leadership was only one of the problems I faced, and being back in Gryffindor would make me less able to take care of myself."

"I think I can understand that," she said slowly, clearly not understanding.

"Look," said Hermione, "Prof. Babbling is the one who told me that my behavior changed. She helped me to understand why I was feeling so confused. I think you can trust her with your problems, and she'll help you find a solution that works for you. She definitely won't be okay with bullying in the dorms."

"Thank you," mumbled Sally-Anne.

"I know that you were hoping for something different," Luna said. "But if you want friends, this really isn't the House for you. For one thing, there's not that many of us."

Sally-Anne briefly smiled, and left. As the door closed behind her, the corner opposite the entrance rippled and the Headmaster faded into view.

Harry immediately went on the offensive. "Headmaster, we stated that one of the conditions for you observing our interviews was that you would not cast any magic. You agreed when you responded, 'Very well.' Twice during our interviews I distinctly felt magic being cast from your corner of the room."

Dumbledore said nothing, with a vague smile implied on his face by the pattern of his beard and moustache.

"Every time we give you an opportunity to be trusted, you deliberately fail it. Not only can we not trust you, you want us to _know_ we can't trust you." Neville paused. "So there will be no more meetings without our safety conditions being met."

Luna quietly said, "Go away. Leave us alone." The students gathered their things in silence and left the room, always keeping a defensive eye on the man. He might have been smiling, but none of the students trusted his expressions or his intentions – they clearly weren't going to discuss anything in front of him.

Harry was joined in the Lair by Professors Burbage and Vector while he took up recounting his adventures. He had no way of knowing how much respect he gained through his dry recitation – he didn't seek fame, power, or his own safety, so both the official and unofficial heads of Magic House felt safe in leaving the House security under his direction.


	15. Quality

**Chapter 15: Quality**

 **Monday, November 27, 1995**

The day began unrighteously early, and Harry had a small headache from a Voldesnort-dream. The first day of "training" began with Prof. Burbage, in a pink Muggle track suit, leading them on a run around the outside of the castle. This did _not_ help Harry get off to a rousing start, and after breakfast, he made the decision to skip all his classes – he wasn't _just_ feeling rebellious, although it was a decided factor. Luna stayed with him, and they sat on a couch before their magnificent windows, looking over the grounds, speaking occasionally about things of no importance. After two class periods went by, Harry was feeling recovered enough to insist that Luna attend classes, and he joined his class schedule in progress.

Harry was feeling better by late afternoon; a devoted friend made all the difference as he tried to shake off the emotional miasma that accompanied a Riddle-dream. Slipping through his Door, he found Luna and Hermione in the Lair.

"Arrgh! Why doesn't this make sense?!"

Luna was on the other side of the table. "Perhaps you're looking at it the wrong way. What is the problem?"

Hermione gestures to the books laid open in front of her. "Potions! Three stirs! Five Stirs! Seven slugs! Two heart valves! And not once does anyone – ever – stop to weigh or measure ANYTHING!" She took a few breaths to calm down. "Nothing we do makes any sense at all; we start with three dippers of water for this potion," she gestured to the book farthest to her right, "and four dippers for this one," she indicated another book, "and nowhere does it say how big the dipper should be, and both potions end up filling the same bottle! It just makes no sense!"

Harry could see that Hermione was approaching a serious breakdown; her voice was rising in tone, and her speech was faster, more clipped, and … frantic.

Luna was calm in the face of Hermione's agitation. "Why doesn't it make sense? Or, for that matter, why should it?"

The change in focus _did_ help Hermione settle down. "Potions have rules. If you follow the same recipe, you _always_ get the same potion. If you alter the recipe the same way twice, you _always_ get the same result. There are obviously rules that govern how a potion is created and how potion ingredients come together. But none of those rules seem to deal with the essential properties of the ingredients, or even the essential procedures of making the potion!" Hermione was ramping up again. Harry shook his head minutely. This was five years of frustration coming out at once, and he wasn't sure that he should stay in the blast zone.

Luna was either made of sterner stuff, or oblivious to her impending (accidental) demise. Instead, she continued her questioning. "What are those essential properties, Hermione?"

Hermione was diverted again – and Harry was sure that it wouldn't last. "The potion uses the magical properties of the ingredients to produce a directed magical effect in the drinker. Obviously, the magical properties of the ingredients are essential, and _nowhere_ is the actual _quantity_ of the ingredient IMPORTANT!" Hermione was slipping off the rails again.

Luna put her back on them. "Why would the quantity be relevant, Hermione?"

Hermione took a moment to collect herself, controlling her breathing. Finally she went on, "Prof. Tegmark from MIT in America has pointed out that, 'Our world doesn't just have some mathematical properties; it has _only_ mathematical properties.' The math involved in making potions is completely divorced from the actual process of making potions. It just doesn't make any SENSE!"

And then Luna asked, "Is this Professor a Wizard?"

Hermione, half standing at her seat, sat with a resounding thump.

"So if he is unable to deal with magic, perhaps magic is the part of the universe that isn't governed by sums?"

Harry left though his Door, unnoticed by either witch, convinced he had just heard something vitally important.

After dinner, Harry found an abandoned, empty classroom on the third floor. For a long time, he just sat and looked out the window at the empty sky, the surface of his mind empty but with emotions and concepts roiling under the surface, waiting for the turmoil to end. His emotions were wild, at first, fluctuating with every random thought that crossed his mind, but as the thoughts slowed, so did his emotional volatility, and the import of what he had overheard surfaced from the depths of his mind.

Finally, he came to himself, his emotions at rest. _Quantity is almost irrelevant in the Wizarding world – it's the opposite of quantity that has importance. That's … quality? It's the qualities of the potion ingredients that make a potion, not their number. It's the qualities of the numbers that dictate using those quantities, not mass or addition or anything like that. In Transfiguration, it's the qualities of the items that dictate how we learn – McGonagall pairs up items with matching qualities. In potions, we mix items with the right qualities together. In Creatures and Herbology, we learn about the qualities of the … thing. In Astronomy, we learn about the qualities of the heavenly bodies. Charms and DADA are about imbuing magic with a certain … quality?_ Harry tabled this for later pondering.

 _So, if quality is everything … what qualities do I need to have so I can ask of God and survive? Honesty – I've made a start on that. Humility, probably. I need to be as wise as I can. I should probably demonstrate temperance, so I've got to be careful at mealtimes, still. Patience is a good one. Kindness would be important, I guess._ Harry's thoughts went still for some moments, then the one thought came to the fore.

 _Who do I need to be?_

The thought reverberated in his head, over and over. Gradually, Harry noticed that it had changed; now he was wondering, _Who do I_ want _to be?_

While Harry didn't have answers, he felt that he now understood what the question needed to be.

That evening, Magic House had a discussion over dinner. Back in their new dining area, Hermione led off with, "I think we can set it up better."

Neville was lost, "What?"

Hermione swallowed and elaborated, "I think that our Doors can be set up better. And I think that we should make one for Prof. Burbage, too."

Luna was quick to ask, "Can you keep the Professor's from revealing what the Door spell actually is?"

"Yes, I think so. By using an indirect evocation, any diagnostic spell would …"

"Okay, we got it, you're able to keep it a secret." Harry broke in just after he lost the thread. "But what about setting the Doors up better?"

"Well, I think that the Door anchors should be in the Lair instead of our rooms. They are the weak spot for detection, since they are fixed in place. That would give us a bit of security for our rooms. And we could have Prof. Burbage's Door anchor here, too, so if her Door gets taken by Dumbledore, we're still safe in our beds." Hermione was justifiably still paranoid.

Luna added, "I think that there's also a way for us to use the Doors as a point-to-point system, but we'll have to act in pairs for that."

"Really?" asked Hermione, and the two of them began describing ideas back and forth, using half-sentences and hand gestures for a bewildering few minutes. Finally, Hermione said the only intelligible thing that Harry had heard from her – "Yes, that'll work." – and she turned to the boys. "The change in anchor will need about five minutes for each Door, and I'll need to adjust your control ring at the end. When do you want to do this?"

Neville and Harry exchanged glances, and they said, "Now?" "Right now's good." Hermione immediately began to cast spells furiously, while Luna re-arranged the center tables of the Lair. Harry and Neville judiciously retreated to the plant workbeds were they would be safe from Hermione's enthusiasm.

When she was finished, she retrieved the Door Rings from their hands a spent a few minutes fiddling with them. She handed them back with, "There. The two of you will use those Doors," indicating two black rectangles back-to-back, jutting out from the wall, "and we'll use those," pointing at two more about five feet to their left. "Prof. Burbage will have one on the wall between ours. Now," she caught Harry's wandering attention, "if you and Neville want to work together to make a point-to-point compound Door, you need to invert your hands when you make the Doors; that will use the inside surfaces so that coming out your Door will feed directly into Neville's Door and put you where his Door is placed. Got it?"

Harry eyed the Doors until he could visualize what she was talking about. Neville stared at the two Doors for a moment, then smiled. It was a bit later that Harry sat back and relaxed as well.

Things were coming together.

-o-

 **Tuesday, November 28, 1995**

Another morning chasing an unreasonably chipper pink track suit. This time, since there was fresh snow falling, they ran through the halls and stairs of the second and third floors. It wasn't as cold, but the burn was the same. Harry's mood was … less than friendly for a while. Breakfast fixed that; a piping hot crab omelet, two amazingly light croissants, and a small bowl of cottage cheese made a nice start for the day. _Better than hurting and sweating, that's for sure_.

The schedule for Harry's Tuesday classes was less packed than Monday's, and he was able to take his classes at a slower pace than the day before. Over lunch, he found that he was actually in a good mood; the lunch discussion he needed to have had a potential for getting nasty.

He started out with, "What are we going to do to keep Flitwick and Dumbledore off our backs?"

Hermione had her mouth full; she exchanged glances with Luna and then shrugged her shoulders. Neville deliberately took another bite when Harry looked at him.

Harry rolled his eyes. "When we attended the staff meeting, we saw that both Dumbledore and Flitwick are both adamant that we make sure that no boys can enter the girls dorms." Luna's attention went back to her meal. _Probably – it's hard to tell with her._ Hermione kept eating. Neville rolled his eyes at Harry.

He tried again. "If we don't come up with something that they accept, even reluctantly, we risk the possibility that they work to develop some sort of wards that prevent our Doors from working, and then all of our security is shot; without the Doors, the whole premise of having hidden rooms throughout the castle won't work." He decided to make this personal for them. "Luna, you will have to go back to sleeping in a shared dorm where everyone else wants you humiliated and uncomfortable. Hermione, you will be at risk for controlling potions and compulsion spells every time your eyes close." They both looked a bit worried. "As for me and Neville – well, we'll have to spill enough blood to convince everyone that we're entitled to direct our own lives. So, will you pay attention enough to help solve this problem and keep Magic House going?"

Hermione had swallowed, and as she responded, her eyes narrowed in analysis. "Like you said, our security depends on the Door. I could develop a variant that's restricted to hallways, but without giving up the spell itself, there's no way that they would believe that you're restricted to the variant instead of the original. And we're _not_ giving up the spell to them." Everyone understood that Hermione's refusal was vehement and permanent, even though her voice wasn't raised. "Which means that they will have to have control of a detection system to prove to them that there are no boys in our room."

Neville said slowly, "I'm not sure that I want the staff to have detection systems in our rooms. They can know if there's a boy in your room – or a girl in ours, for all I care – but having them able to spy on our location is a little … well, it makes me uncomfortable."

Luna put in, "The dorms in Ravenclaw have a siren that goes off if a boy enters the girl's hallways. Prof. Flitwick tests it randomly but no less than once a month, to make sure that nobody has disabled it. If that's what he has for his dorms, why should he demand more for ours?"

Harry slowly smiled, in concert with Neville, and after a moment, Hermione joined them. "We have a plan! Hermione, do you have any way, off the top of your head, that Prof. Burbage can be notified if a boy steps into your rooms, or a girl in ours?"

Hermione's gaze darted up and to the left in recall. "There aren't any spells I know of that would provide a complete solution; maybe if we use two spells together …"

Harry interrupted, "I can find something that will work, I think, once we get back to the Lair tonight. We'll have to work out how to allow the siren to alert only Prof. Burbage, but I'd bet on being able to give something to the staff by this weekend. If it's okay with all of you, I'll let Flitwick know that we're working on it, and maybe he can give some pointers."

Assent all around – and Harry was able to pay more attention to the food, as it deserved.

-o-

Tuesday evening, Harry suppressed a sigh and pulled out _The Book_. A piece of parchment in hand, he used the spells to search for gender detection charms – several were found, but they were either directed at pets and livestock, or at pregnant witches. Harry was simultaneously repelled and interested, but the repulsion won out. Clearly, this would need some serious help.

Back to his room to stow _The Book_ and to check with the Marauder's Map; Prof. Flitwick _was_ in his office. _Good_. One hand wave later, and Harry was stepping into the hallway just outside of the Charms' Professor's office.

"Sir? May I have a word with you?"

"Come in, Mr. Potter! What charms problem have you for me today?" Prof. Flitwick was jovial and straight to the point – perhaps the only residue of the disagreement in the staff meeting was how he was skipping the social niceties and getting straight to the point. _Maybe this will help repair that damage_.

"We've been talking about your concerns about the Magic House dorm arrangements, and we are trying to set up a gender-based alert for Prof. Burbage. Um, we're just having a problem finding a gender detection spell to start off with."

The part-gnome blinked at Harry. "You agree with my objections?"

Harry shrugged. "Right now, none of us think that they're needed, but … you're a Head of House, and it _does_ make us look bad if we don't have it, so, well, we figure that you know better than us what we should be doing."

"Well, well," Flitwick clapped his hands together. "I am quite gratified. So, you need a gender detection spell?"

Harry leaned forward to discuss the issue. "What we want to do is create a boy-detecting spell and a girl detecting spell, and link their results to a parchment or necklace or something for Prof. Burbage. That way she will be notified, wherever she is, if someone of the wrong gender is in our dorms."

Flitwick rubbed his chin. "That would do, but your dorms are a bit … unorthodox. How will your Head of House be able to apprehend the … guest?" His eyes were smiling at his euphemism.

"Oh," said Harry offhandedly, "we're giving her access to a Door so she can inspect our Commons room and the dorms. That's not a problem."

"You do realize that Miss Granger's rediscovery of the Doorway of Khepera makes all of the castle's security issues much more difficult?"

Harry smirked. "So far, we haven't even thought of using it in that fashion – and Hermione hasn't mentioned how to get into the Restricted Section of the Library, so you know that it's not going to be used that way!" He considered for a moment. "In fact, I don't think that this Door spell _could_ even be used to get around the alarms in the Restricted Section. Hermione will be very disappointed when she realizes that!"

Prof. Flitwick chuckled at that – Hermione Granger was legendary for trying (and in some cases, succeeding) to defeat the library's security systems. "But even so, your travel spell is a security issue here in Hogwarts."

Harry shrugged. "The Doors are an integral part of _our_ security. We're not going to allow the spell to be analyzed, and we're not going to allow each other to use it in a way that could make the headmaster take it away from us. We're a part of Magic House because the staff have failed us – we have to take control of our own safety, Prof. Flitwick." Harry's significant look was meant to indicate that Prof. Flitwick was also at fault, but the message didn't seem to get through.

The Charms professor waved his wand, and three books floated down from the impossibly tall bookshelves at the far end of the office. "These three should have what you are looking for; charms that will detect the genders of a room's inhabitants and sound an alarm when the detection condition is reached." He gave Harry a significant look, and Harry picked up on it; "I must keep the actual scheme used in the other House dorms confidential, as I expect you understand, Mr. Potter."

Harry immediately came back with, "So we don't exploit any weaknesses in the scheme and defeat the security, right?"

"Precisely, Mr. Potter!"

Harry snorted. "Which means that your detection scheme probably has enormous holes in it, but since you aren't willing to work on improving it, you don't know what the current weaknesses are – or how the students are getting around it right _now_. The staff at Hogwarts are again choosing what is convenient over their responsibility to the students."

Flitwick frowned. "Is this another reference to the bullying of Miss Lovegood?"

"In a roundabout way, I suppose it is, Professor."

Flitwick took a noisy breath and exhaled. "Humans – and goblins, for that matter – are a social species. Regardless of Miss Lovegood's brilliance, without the ability to work with others, she cannot truly make any advances in magic or general knowledge. Jobs – all jobs – involve interacting with others socially. Miss Lovegood, while exceptionally intelligent, is unable to work well with her peers, and it is this lack of social ability that is behind her issues. When she develops the skills to interact with others, she will be able to work her way out of these confrontations."

Harry was still. "Luna interacts well with the members of Magic House. I suspect that Ravenclaw has, under your leadership, lowered itself to acting primarily under mob rule." He shook his head. "Ravenclaw, the house of intelligent individuals, is acting as a stupid mob. Slytherin shows little cunning and less guile, failing to achieve ambition. Gryffindor is too afraid of social sanction to do anything that isn't popular." He eyed Flitwick speculatively. "Inside Hufflepuff, how much loyalty really is there? Given the trends, I'm not hopeful."

Harry stood up, books in hand. "I appreciate the help, Professor. Maybe if Ravenclaw was living up to its reputation, I'd be a little more inclined to believe that Luna's problems were not your failure."

Prof. Flitwick had the last word. "And why would your impressions bear any weight with the staff, Mr. Potter?"

 _Because we obviously see things differently. And just maybe, we're not blinded by that old bastard in the tower._


	16. Fangirls

**Chapter 16: Fangirls**

 **Wednesday, November 29, 1995**

After dinner, Harry left the sanctuary of the Magic House dining area and approached the staff table, where the entire staff were finishing their meals. "Headmaster Dumbledore, Magic House has finished the alarms on the dorms, and we will be testing them directly after our head of house has finished her meal. Please note that any disturbance does not indicate an emergency at this time, but any similar event in the future will require the assistance of Professor Burbage to end the alarm."

"I will be finished in a moment, Harry. I need to inspect these security systems."

Harrys tone dropped from affable to frigid. "No, _Albus_. First of all, you have no right to address me by my first name, as I've repeatedly insisted to you. Second, our security is very tight to keep our students safe. And we feel that the biggest threat to our safety is you." He let that sink in for a beat. "As we've told you before, you will not enter our House rooms." Harry inconspicuously waved his left hand at the floor, and disappeared from sight while the entire staff and student body were watching – which caused a tsunami of excited babbling to swell around the hall.

Professor Burbage stood, patted her lips with her napkin, and took three steps away from the staff table … and disappeared the same way that Harry had; she was the one, after all that had suggested that invoking the Door on the floor would be a fantastic effect that would befuddle the Headmaster.

As the volume in the Great Hall settled down, students completely neglecting their sugary dessert to discuss the apparent Apparition within Hogwarts, that the Headmaster couldn't stop … the low but overwhelming sound of a foghorn rolled through the castle, at a volume that rattled teeth and shook windows.

As it dissipated, Professor Flitwick was quick enough to say, "That would be the alarm for inappropriate visitors in the boy's dorms, I would imagine." He had enough sang-froid to calmly take another bite of his meal, while staff and students alike jumped up and began screaming at each other – to no effect until the almost visible wall of sound rolled away.

Just in time to have his teeth vibrated by a two-tone siren that was loud enough to crack the Headmaster's glasses. The diminutive professor smirked. _A classic dominance ploy. And I'd bet that the windows in Albus' office are blown out._ He shook his head in wry amusement, unnoticed by the rest of the staff. _If I were them, I'd set the origin points for those two alarms in the Headmaster's office and_ … he gulped the reminder of his drink quickly and left the table at a fast trot … _and my office._

Filius Flitwick was correct.

-o-

 **Friday, December 8, 1995**

The school changed so gradually that Harry didn't notice. He was no longer getting dirty looks – and scared avoidance – from the students. Most didn't know what to make of the new House; they left him alone for that, and since Magic House only covered four students, Harry was still pretty isolated. Another reason for the change was that Harry didn't sport a forbidding scowl as he walked through the halls ( _when_ he walked through that halls – Prof. Burbage was right about how the Doors would cut down on their use of the staircases.)

So having another student approach Harry should have been something he expected. But he didn't.

"Mr. Potter, may I have a word?"

Harry spun around, wand out at … a pretty girl, blonde, a tad shorter, with entrancing blue eyes.

Well, entrancing for some people; Harry was not enthralled. "What, Miss Greengrass?" She was physically a beauty, but her actions were pretty repellent to Harry. She seemed to buy in to all the Slytherin manias: power, wealth, manipulation, and the complete dismissal of those who had none. From what Harry had observed, she didn't kotow to Malfoy, but that didn't mean she objected to his philosophy; she just refused to follow him, angling to be a leader in her own right.

Even though Harry should have been completely beneath her notice, she was obviously being … non-arrogant. Almost as if Harry was an equal. "I would like to speak with you about an issue that you may find … interesting. Could we meet after dinner?"

Harry thought a moment. "Are you aware of where Magic House conducted interviews a few weeks ago?"

She nodded.

"Immediately after dinner, I can meet with you there. It is the policy of Magic House that no student meet with another without an escort – security, you see. If you would like to bring your own security to guard against my own attacks, we can make arrangements there for whatever privacy our meeting requires. Is that acceptable?"

"Thank you, Mr. Potter." She smiled a bit as she turned and walked away (very nicely, Harry noticed), but he was still unsettled. _Why would the Ice Queen want to talk to_ me?

The question didn't have a chance to get answered as Harry heard another voice behind him, "What does _she_ want?" This time, Harry knew the voice. _Unfortunately_.

"Miss Weasley, why would you think that is any business of yours?"

She crossed her arms and performed what she undoubtedly thought was a very creditable pout. "She's not a friend of yours," she said, evading the question.

Harry would not let her continue in her delusion. " _Neither are you_. Last year, when I was abandoned by Gryffindor House because they all thought I was a cheat – _where were you_? And when McGonagall told everyone that I was dangerous? You had every opportunity to be my friend. You _failed_." He flicked his fingers in her face. "Go away."

Her face turned red – not as red as her hair, but Harry had seen that shade on her brother's face before. "Don't even _think_ about blowing your stack in here, girly. You walked away from the one person you _know_ is willing to die for you. You want another chance to play out your fangirl fantasies?" The red in her face shifted shade – no longer furious, just embarrassed. "Prove yourself. Prove that you are worth my time. Prove that you aren't in it just for the attention. Up to you."

Harry lowered his head to invade her space. "But you will _never_ control me. You _never_ get to dictate who I talk to or what I do. You want a chance with me? You've failed every one you've had before. Don't go thinking that this one will be any different." He reached out without looking and grasped the door handle to the Magic House room, thus vanishing from her sight.

At the House table, Neville, Luna, and Hermione were grinning at him. He plopped down on his seat, looking at them in silence. Finally, he said, "What?"

Luna said airily, "You just made Ginny the fangirl supreme at Hogwarts. She is the only one who has seen this side of the Boy-Who-Lived."

Harry was stunned. "Erm … what?"

Hermione was also … _overly_ amused, Harry felt. "We know that Ginny was raised on the legend of the Boy-Who-Lived, and fell for the story, hook, line, and sinker. But then, she nearly lost her life to Tom Riddle's trap, and instead of oblivion, she awoke to find both Harry Potter and herself recovering from their own deaths together."

She smiled a little sympathetically. "It's a very powerful image to a young girl, Harry. And then, instead of following the script where you become her best friend and rescue her from poverty and her family's smothering embrace, you proceed to completely ignore her. That drove her obsession to an even higher level," she explained. "If you were following her imagined story so completely then _stopped_ , obviously, she did something wrong. And now, you pointed out what she did wrong …"

Luna took up the explanation, "And you made it quite clear that she was following the wrong fantasy!"

Harry was following Hermione's explanation with a growing sense of dread, but Luna lost him. "Huh?"

Hermione said, "Ginny was following the Happy-Ever-After storyline, and wondered why you weren't being a storybook hero. But you just told her, and I quote," she added mischievously, " 'you will never control me', which tells her that she wasn't counting on the _wild_ and dangerous _rebel_!" Hermione broke down laughing.

"So now Ginny will be revising her life to fit this new story – the wild rebel that can do the impossible and can only be tamed by the love of his girlfriend!" Luna finally made sense to Harry. The three laughed at him; well, to be fair, Neville had never stopped, and the two girls had only taken time out from their laughter to explain to Harry how he had unwittingly made his life harder.

He wished she didn't. Harry began his dinner with a couple of solid head butts to the table. _It_ didn't mind, and the pain and annoyance and _bother_ Harry felt was finally physical where he could deal with it.

The question of Miss Greengrass was settled very shortly after dinner (seafood, this time; crab legs with a lemon-type sauce and salmon patties on a nutty salad), when Harry and Luna camped out in the small classroom they had been in before. They were not waiting long before they faced the door opening to admit Miss Greengrass and Miss Davis, the constant shadow of Miss Greengrass according to all the student gossip.

"Shall we?" asked Harry, sweeping his arm to indicate the chairs at the table. "I am unsure about how much privacy you need for this discussion, but I have no objections to Miss Lovegood being a part of it."

They sat as Miss Greengrass responded, "If you are sure. For my part, I have already discussed my plans with Miss Davis, so nothing need be kept from her, either."

"So what is it that you would like to talk over?"

"Mr. Potter, I believe that we have an opportunity here that I would like to capitalize upon. I think that we should form a romantic alliance so that we may control the school through the end of seventh year, which would give us a good chance to exercise dominance and control for the rest of our careers, whatever they may be." She sat back in her chair, as if the sheer brilliance of her plan was automatically evident to Harry.

It was not. He blinked in confusion. He glanced left to where Luna sat, and she was straight faced – with the subtle twitches that indicated a great deal of laughter beneath the surface. _At me. Again_. He sighed.

"Miss Greengrass, how did you determine that I wanted to be your boyfriend?"

She flicked her long, blonde hair over her right shoulder, and fixed Harry with a look that indicated that he was brain dead. "All boys want to be my boyfriend," she stated. _Well,_ that _was condescending_. For her part, Miss Davis's expression concisely communicated, _it's a shame, but it's a self-evident proposition, because boys are stupid_.

Luna offered opposition. "Actually, for those boys that select a girlfriend purely on the basis of appearance, there are significant populations that prefer exotic redheads or sultry brunettes. There is also a significant group that prefers the girl-next-door look rather than the attention-grabbing blonde appearance. And that doesn't even take into account height, eye color, and boob size." She blandly regarded Miss Greengrass. "While you are of an appropriate height to complement Mr. Potter currently, I would estimate that Miss Davis, here, would more closely approximate his ideal physical type than you do."

This was so contrary to their world-view that neither Slytherin could respond for a moment, and Harry took the opportunity to pose another question. "And how did you determine that I wanted to control the graduates of Hogwarts, socially or otherwise?"

While the two girls were trying to come up with an answer that wasn't, _you mean you don't?_ , Harry also had to ask Luna, "And just _how_ did you determine my 'ideal physical type'?" He used air quotes, partly to show his disdain at the notion.

Luna absentmindedly listed, "Your history before Hogwarts, your aversion to fame, your former friends and how those friendships ended, your reaction to the girls of your year in Gryffindor, your reaction to the girls of Ravenclaw that you've encountered, and your absolute disgust with Romilda Vane."

Some small part of Harry's brain was completely terrified of how Luna had been examining him, but he forced that aside for the moment. _Or forever_. He turned back to Miss Greengrass. "The only reason I would want to control the students of Hogwarts would be so I could ruthlessly make them leave me alone. I mean no offense, but your plan doesn't seem to be very well, well, _planned_ ; not even knowing what I am looking for in a girlfriend seems to be a major blind spot. Besides, I have plans in motion that prevent me from," he waved his hand vaguely, "participating in your goals." He stood to leave, and Luna copied his lead.

Miss Davis stood and accused Harry, "Plans? You never said anything about your own plans!"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Can you keep a secret?" he asked the two.

They both nodded eagerly.

He leaned forward, his right hand behind his back, wiggling his fingers. The two Slytherin girls leaned forward as well, anticipating some delicious news. " _So can I_ ," he whispered. At that moment Luna put her hand in his right, and he waved his left hand at the floor.

They both appeared in the Lair less than a heartbeat later, horizontally in the air, about a foot off the stone floor. Harry let a heartfelt, "Ooof!" as he landed, and another as Luna landed on him. They caught each other's gaze, and burst into laughter.

"And what, pray tell, is so funny?" asked a voice archly. Harry jerked his head around to see Prof. Burbage and Prof. Vector sitting in the Lair. He rolled to his feet, and held out a hand to help Luna up.

She asked, "Do you think that Draco Malfoy might really _be_ their leader?" They both laughed as they approached the table. Luna explained to the teachers where they had been and how they exited, leading them all to shake their heads in despair at the example of 'cunning and guile' that had been displayed.

"So, Harry, you were telling us about the first task of the Tri-Wizard Tournament from your point of view," prompted Prof. Vector. She was really into Harry's storytelling, and barely tolerated Hermione's asides and explanations; Hermione tended to get too sidetracked to present a good narrative. As Harry looked around at his friends, he realized that it would be … a pretty good night.

-o-

 **Friday, December 15, 1995**

Harry woke very late in the evening, with eyes that were – initially – very wide and frightened. Quickly, though, an expression of calculation appeared on his features. "Dobby!"

 _Pop_. "Dobby is ready for Master Harry Potter Sir!"

"Dobby, I have been having a dream about something Voldemort is doing. I think he is guiding a snake through the Ministry of Magic building. Can you get in there?"

Dobby's eyes narrowed. "Dobby can go anywheres his Master needs Dobby."

"Are you willing to try and kill the snake?"

"Dobby can do this, Master Harry Potter Sir!" Dobby was almost at military attention.

Harry sat fully upright. "I figure that you need to be invisible with no sound and no smell so you can catch the big snake. _It_ can't use magic, so if you magic a knife to chop it up, you won't have to get close to it. This is very important, Dobby – you can't get hurt." He held up his hand to stop Dobby's expected caterwauling about being a 'Great Master.' "Let the snake go if you could get hurt or if you could be detected. And if you use magic …" Harry smirked, "Can you make it look like the Malfoy's magic?"

Dobby expression was very similar to when he faced off against Lucius Malfoy previously. "Dobby will kill evil snakey-man's snakey!" _Pop_.

All Harry got from his dreams that night was Riddle's anguish as his familiar died – Harry had no clue how it came about. Apparently, neither did Riddle.

Dobby's enthusiastic report that next morning was amusing and full of more bad grammar than … well, previous reports by Dobby. But the gist of the report was that Dobby had made himself undetectable, and combed through the Ministry of Magic building, starting with the top floor, finally finding the snake on the ninth level down. Dobby had borrowed a meat cleaver from Hogwarts' kitchen, and used it to slice off the snake's head. Dobby then cleaned up the mess, and offered the snake corpse to Harry – which he immediately and hastily declined.

Harry went back to bed and slept until just before lunch – he didn't have any classes anyway. Dobby was sporting a snakeskin bandolier when Harry woke up for his meal.


	17. The Ritual

**Chapter 17: The Ritual**

 _ **Very Early**_ **, Monday, December 25, 1995**

Dobby's voice penetrated Harry's sleep. "The Great Master Harry Potter Sir wants to get wakey-waykies now."

Harry slowly opened his eyes. _Why did I decide on 1 am?_ Despite his immense desire to stay in bed, he levered himself up to a sitting position. With Dobby's quiet prodding, Harry dressed himself in the white outfit he had chosen specifically for this event. The underclothes were linen, and somewhat uncomfortable; they were an ancient style that did not include elastic, or any other artificial fiber. His robes were wool, though, which was fortunate as the castle tended to be downright inhospitable in the dead of winter. As well as the beginning of winter in the tail end of December. The white furry leather boots were difficult to come by, but they kept his feet much warmer than simple slippers could – and on the early morning of December 25th, that was an important consideration.

Nothing in the ritual instructions made any mention of clothing, but Harry's instincts had demanded it. The scant notes he had did make mention that his attitude was of paramount importance, and as Harry dressed in preparation for this event, he could feel his attention narrowing to the ritual, to the words he would utter and the favor he would beg.

The decision on clothing was the right one, he affirmed. Taking his bundle of supplies, he left his room. Once in the Lair, he opened a Door to a nearly abandoned part of the castle – not that it should matter at this hour, but … just in case.

He walked down the hall to the classroom he had chosen for the ceremony; appearing directly into the room showed less respect, Harry felt, and the respect was important, here. Dobby and Winky had worked so very diligently preparing the room, removing all dirt and dust, and keeping the room pure of all outside influences. The two house elves now stationed themselves as guards for Harry, standing just inside the room facing the door. Harry gave them each a grateful smile for their service, kneeling and clasping their tiny shoulders, and moved on into the center of the room.

The ritual baths he had taken for each of the last three days was less about cleanliness and more about purifying his mind and desire. The special diet had helped him control his appetites rather than satiating them. He had lived as closely to what he knew was right as he could, ever since he thought of this course of action. He had committed to keeping that course, regardless of the outcome, and he was steadily getting better at it – and his commitment didn't stop after today's ritual.

And now the planning and preparation was over. Time to act.

Harry knelt on the empty stone floor. Unwrapping the bundle in his arms, he took the large container of salt and poured out a circle around him at the limits of his reach. He carefully set three small bowls in front of him, and filled each one with the jars he had sent for: gold dust, carefully heaping over the brim; frankincense, carefully tapping the jar to dislodge all the crystals; myrrh, carefully scraping the last of the oil from the sides of the vial. _Carefully_. His wand was set between him and the bowls, lying right to left.

The instructions ran out at this point. Harry still knew what to do. Bowing his head, hands upturned on his knees, he spoke, magic focused on his task, his plea. "My god, master of the universe, I come before you to ask for forgiveness of my sins. I ask for peace." Steeling his nerve, he went on with the secret desire of his heart, "And I ask for some way to be with my family."

The room brightened, a light that was simply present, casting no shadows. While the light was brighter than anything Harry had experienced before, his eyes did not water nor turn aside, and he could see the figure of a person before him. He tucked his head back down into his bow.

"I have been sent to converse with you and to hear your pleas. I speak as if I were God, and I will hear you as your Father in Heaven. I have been given authority to act in his stead in this matter." The figure's voice was … an anti-roar. The empty silence that followed an explosion preceded and permeated all of his words, without the deafening boom before. He was simply _heard_ , in a way that was more profound than Harry's ears could convey.

Harry blinked rapidly. The sheer joy, security, and acceptance that flowed from the person in front of him was nearly overwhelming, and had he given in to it, Harry would have broken down and been unintelligible in his tears.

In a soft voice, Harry asked, "May I know your name?"

"I serve the Most High as His messenger. If I shared my name, glory would be given to me rather than to my master. For that reason, I do not give my name when in the service of my God."

"I simply want to thank you for your service in coming to me. This experience is the greatest of my life, regardless of the outcome. I will never be the same, and I will never reach these heights again."

The messenger's voice was dry. "It hasn't been given to me to know your path, but I suspect that your vision is exceptionally narrow. Do not refuse futures simply because you cannot imagine them." Both Harry and the visitor were silent for a long moment. Harry had a few stray thoughts run through his mind ( _Why am I so calm_ and _What happens now_ among them), but for the most part, his mind was empty.

After a time, the messenger spoke again. "Your gifts are appreciated, although unnecessary. All things belong to their creator, so you need not feel ashamed at coming before your Father empty handed."

"That was implied in the instructions I was given, but I needed a way to convey my gratitude. There were many times in my childhood that I was alone and afraid and hurting … but I _was_ supported. And mixed in with the pain were moments of simple joys. I wanted to find a way to thank my Father for the support I was given and the blessings I received." Harry shrugged. "I could find nothing more fitting than the traditional birthday gifts for God Incarnate."

Again, gently, "Your intent is to be commended, but the true gifts sought by your Father are humility, obedience, and gratitude. Your material gifts show that, but it is not necessary to give gifts of items. Gifts of actions are more valued."

Harry acknowledged the advice, both with a nod and verbally. "I understand and thank you for the correction."

"Are you ready to hear the words of the Lord?"

Harry gently smiled, a touch self-mocking. "Of course not. I am in no way worthy of his attentions, nor am I capable of being prepared for an audience with God. I sought one anyway."

Gently, "Very well." The figure in the light straightened to full attention. "STAND! You are a child of the Most High, and to give honor to the position you have been given you will stand in My Presence. Your worthiness is both less than you know and _greater_ than you can _possibly_ conceive."

The messenger's voice had gone from gentle to commanding, and Harry found himself obeying involuntarily.

He went on, "Your choices have been poor at times, but as you have grown, you have generally chosen compassion over vengeance, and you are honest with yourself and others. You have kept your commitments and followed the Light you have been given." The tone changed from commanding to gentle and sorrowful. "Harry, my son, I can – and do – give you both forgiveness and peace. But I cannot give you your family in the way that you want it. If you desire, I can guide you so that you can receive all that I have to offer, and a life that satisfies you and gives you great happiness. But be warned." The messenger's tone – God's tone – was sharper now. "This is a path of difficulty. Every day you will have new chances to fail, and fail permanently. Is this the path you choose?"

Harry looked fully at the messenger, his nebulous desire crystallizing into words. "I know that I am foolish, and that you are wise. I ask that you choose a path for me, one that I can complete with my limited understanding, that will give me the best chance to receive all the heritage and gifts of my Father. I fully commit to your choice, because I trust you completely. Command me, and I _shall_ follow."

An indrawn breath of silence. And then, in a commanding, overwhelming tone, "In the name of the Lord High God, I commend you for your wisdom and faith in your Father." The messenger reached out and put his hand on Harry's forehead, and he felt a weight that was not completely physical. "I bless you with Wisdom to understand the choices you have before you. I bless you with Knowledge, that you may have the tools and skills to succeed, and fully live up to your heritage and position as a Child of God. And I bless you with a limited Authority, so that when you stand for what you know is My Will, you may speak with My Voice and act as My Hand." His hand dropped away. "Go, and know that the angels of Heaven stand ready to assist you in your righteous choices. Seek your strength in virtue, and know that you may return to seek counsel and support from your Father at _any_ time and in _any_ circumstance and at _any_ need."

The light rapidly departed, and Harry found himself standing in a clean room, no traces of salt, no bowls of gifts, with only his wand lying on a perfectly clean floor. Harry bend to retrieve the wooden tool, and turned to see Winky and Dobby standing stiffly at attention, facing the room's only door. The two servants turned to Harry, and they both had evidently experienced some of that Harry had witnessed; Dobby and Winky were both calm and collected, showing confidence but no anxiety (which for Dobby was a _serious_ change.)

Harry went back to his bed. In the back of his mind, there was a new … presence. It gave him comfort, determination, and as he fell asleep, it brought things he already knew together and suggested things for him to think deeply upon. It felt reassuring.

In spite of not getting what he wanted … Christmas was good this year.

-o-

 **Not so early, Monday, December 25, 1995**

Harry woke up at a respectable time, in spite of his after midnight ritual. He grabbed his housecoat and sat at his small bedroom desk. He quickly wrote a small letter:

 _Dearest Luna,_

 _I completed the ritual last night. I was not given what I asked for._

 _And I'm happy about it. Thank you for your unwavering belief in me._

 _Harry_

Hedwig, as per her usual mysterious efficiency, had arrived while Harry was signing the letter. He attached it to her leg, and stopped her from immediately leaving by stroking her chest, back, and head. "If Luna doesn't stuff you so full you can't fly, you let me know and I'll make sure you have all the mice and bacon you can eat. Okay?" Hedwig gave Harry a long, slow stare, than a decisive nod, and she launched herself toward the window at about twice her usual speed.

Christmas meals in Hogwarts were feasts, even though they were sparsely attended. Harry knew that he had to make an appearance. He showered, dressed, and … hesitated. He knew that there was no getting around it; he would have to mingle with the teachers. So, instead of a problem, maybe he could use this as an opportunity?

He went back to his trunk and dug _The Book_ out. He made a quick copy of _How to Commune With Heavenly Courts_ , folded it into his pocket,and went to the Lair. Once there, he opened a Door to the hallway outside the Great Hall. Stepping through, he peeked through the doorway to check on who was in attendance. _Staff. Um, two, no, three seventh years._ He sighed. _This was going to be … uncomfortable. But it's overdue._

He approached a member of staff, who was dressed formally in black robes and was wearing a hat. "Happy Christmas! Prof. McGonagall, can I interest you in joining me for breakfast?"

The Deputy Headmistress gave Harry a long, considering look and then nodded; as expected, there was no hint of a smile on her face. He then offered his hand. "I thought you might be interested in our dining arrangements in Magic House. Given that the Headmaster doesn't seem to be aware of where we eat, I suspect that you may find this interesting." Harry led the Professor to the back of the Great Hall and then touched the door that was, to her, invisible. She gave a bit of a start when door appeared, but when Harry gestured for her to go in first, she walked in.

Harry sat down facing the door and gestured for her to take a seat, which she did. Harry decided to just plunge in and get this over with. _Or maybe I can delay_. "Tweaky, I'd like a traditional Scottish holiday breakfast for two please."

The house-elf's voice came back, "Regulars is ready now, Magics style is ready in two minutes."

"Two minutes is fine, Tweaky; I'd like to give my guest the best. Thank you." He turned to his former Head. "The cooking quality in Magic House is vastly better than what I had at Gryffindor's table. I think you'll like it." He cocked his head to the side as a thought struck him. "But it would really be wasted in someone like Ron Weasley, though."

There were little hints that Ms. McGonagall was thawing. _Now_. Harry went on, "I mostly wanted to get you here to ask … when my punishment would be coming?"

Prof. McGonagall looked at him quizzically. "Punishment, Mr. Potter?"

Harry ducked his head. "Well, the last time we talked, I was rude, out of order, and accused you of things that you weren't guilty of. I deserve some sort of consequences for my behavior, and now that I'm part of a House again, losing points will actually mean something. But … detention can always happen."

McGonagall reached out and put her hand on Harry's. "Your intent was good, Mr. Potter. You were prepared to suffer whatever punishments were necessary so that a _former_ friend would receive the support she needed. I have not given you a punishment because your actions, while disrespectful, were based purely on your desire to help another, in a purely Gryffindor manner." She paused for a moment while she withdrew her hand. "Is your friendship with Miss Granger repaired?"

Harry considered a bit. "We're more like … um, wary colleagues? She doesn't seem to believe that I have the right to ignore her orders or to limit her involvement in my life. But we're still working together to help her feel safe and secure."

"That is a shame." She seemed quite genuine in her disappointment. "Miss Granger needs your friendship more than she needs books." At Harry's look of pure crogglement, she explained, "Not that Miss Granger recognizes that. But her life will go so much better with your friendship."

Harry nodded – he didn't really agree, but it was a way to signal a change in subject. _Now I've got to be careful._ "Um, Professor – can I ask a question? I know that it's not something you will want to share ... but I think it's important."

Her face became even more impenetrable, which was pretty amazing. "You may, Mr. Potter."

"Um, from where the other professors have stopped talking and how they broke off in the middle of a sentence, I figure that it was your father that died during the Grindlewald War … and that he died trying to call on Heaven. Could you tell me what you know about that, please?"

There was a long silence. Finally, "Why do you want to know, Mr. Potter?" Her tone was not encouraging.

"I think that I've got something that might help, but unless I know what you know, I don't have the context to make sense of it."

The tension was broken by food appearing on the table. Three covered platters, along with two place settings. Harry lifted one cover: four quarters of an egg, hardboiled, with a ground meat shell around the outsides, with three large meat ovals. "Scottish eggs!" cried the Professor. "And in these?" The other two platters proved to hold small green salads and rounds of shortbread. Harry tried to emulate the Professor as she moved the edibles to her own plate; she took the sliced egg and one of the whole ones, and was obviously debating on whether she could get away with leaving just one for Harry.

He smiled. "I think that these will be better warm, and it's just a two minute wait if you're ready for more. The house-elves take care of us pretty good in here." He gestured at the walls. The two sentences had delayed him so that he was now an egg and a half behind McGonagall. The food was good; savory, with an interesting bland of flavors, but Harry could tell that it had the potential to become very greasy in inexpert hands.

They both ate, McGonagall with almost indecent haste, and while Harry was finishing up his shortbread, she asked, "Please tell me what you know, and if it helps, I'll fill in what context I can."

Harry shrugged, "Okay. The fuss around my oath to Umbridge made me wonder just what the danger was, so I started doing what research I could on how heavenly messengers have acted on earth. I didn't get much, but what I _did_ get made me start to … wonder." He paused. "I'd appreciate it if you would keep this next part confidential." McGonagall nodded. "I found the description of a ritual designed to help contact Heaven, and I prepared for it for the last two months. Last night, I went through the ritual to ask Heaven a favor, and I can testify that it works." Harry handed over the copy of the ritual. "Here's the instructions I followed."

She took the folded parchment slowly. "Are you sure about this? This," she shook the folded ritual instructions, "really works?"

"Yes, but I can confirm that what you get is what God wants to give you, not necessarily what you are asking for."

Her eyes narrowed. "And what were you asking for?"

Harry nervously ran his hand through the hair on the back of his head. "Um … I really don't want this to get out, okay? I was asking for a way to … join my parents."

She kept her eyes narrow. "And is that still your desire?"

Harry grimaced. "The messenger explained to me that it isn't going to happen. And convinced me that I should have different goals."

"Good." The Professor took a deep breath and changed the subject slightly. "My father had just received word that a combined European Wizarding hit team had been destroyed by Grindlewald – all of our most experienced and skilled soldiers were gone. He knew that we couldn't stop Grindlewald on our own, so he sought justice from Heaven. He found a ritual that would summon an angel; he was found torn to pieces in his own summoning circle. Heaven is merciless to those that offend it."

Harry thought for a moment, and spoke, his thoughts crystallizing as he said the words. "I disagree. I think that instead of a ritual for approaching Heaven, your father found something written to keep people _from_ speaking with God. It sounds like the ritual he used was designed to take, rather than ask … which would automatically make him an opponent rather than an ally." More softly, "We have no reason to suspect that your father approached his task with anything other than reverence and humility. We know that he was led astray by … bad information." Harry was quite earnest and sincere, and it carried though in his voice.

"Read the ritual I used," he urged. "There are no summoning circles, no bindings, no force. I purified myself as best as I could, took an honest look at my life and who I was, and begged – not demanded – an audience. It was pretty much a magically powered prayer. And it worked. Your father found a ritual purporting to work, using force, trying to place the wizard in a position of dominance over Heaven's servant; it didn't work. I have no doubt that your father was sincere in his desires and honest in his dealings, but the procedure he was given was … inappropriate for what he was trying to do." A thought occurred to Harry. "And from what you said, we don't even know that the being he summoned was even one of Heaven's messengers. The existence of God logically implies that His legendary enemies may exist as well; I have no experience to suggest that, but I'd be … wary." Harry shook his head. "We really don't know who your father called upon, or what the ritual he performed was designed to do. But it is quite apparent that the ritual he performed _wasn't_ the ritual he wanted. At some point along the way, in some manner, he was lied to." Harry bowed his head. "And that is what led to his death. I _am_ sorry."

Prof. McGonagall shook her head in mute denial, eyes closed and leaking. It was the most out of control Harry had ever seen her, and he was quite uncomfortable, not knowing how to respond. After a few minutes that felt way too long to Harry, she wiped her eyes and met his gaze. "I understand what you were trying to offer, Mr. Potter. It … will take me some time to wrap my head around this, ye ken?"

Harry offered a small smile at her slip into dialect. "If I understand your language correctly, I 'ken.' " He shrugged again; he noticed that he was doing that a lot this morning. "Remember, I went through the ritual early this morning. I'm still trying to understand everything that happened to me, but I thought I could help and I didn't feel that I should delay at all."

Quietly, "Thank you."

Hesitantly, "It has also just occurred to me that I might be able to pass along, if you will, one of the gifts I was given. Will you allow me to do this?"

Minerva nodded.

Harry stood, and with a firmness and confidence he rarely displayed, he placed his right hand on her head, palm touching her forehead. With his head bowed, he spoke the words that presented themselves in his mind. "In the name of the Father of us all, I give you a portion of the Gift I was given, the Gift of Peace. Minerva, God desires that you lay down your burden of bitterness from the past. Fear not to choose righteousness over evil in all your doings. Your Father God knows your doings and desires, and cares for you more than you could ever know. _Be at peace_. This I say in the service of God. So shall it be, in His Name."

As Harry lowered his hand, Prof. McGonagall raised her bowed head to show that she had tears streaming down her face. Harry was completely out of his element and froze as she wrapped him in an almost Hermione-like hug. Harry was rock-still for the several minutes while McGonagall worked to get her emotions under control. She released him and sniffled for a bit, while Harry uncomfortably looked around the room. Focusing on the small group in the Great Hall, he thought, _None of them seems to be looking for us._

At last, the professor spoke, in a small voice. " _Thank you_."

Harry got up from the table. "I still think that I owe you a great deal to make up for my insolence. Please let me know if there's anything you would like me to do."

She gave a weak smile. "Could you take back the seeker position?"

Harry smiled in return, "It would be a great deal simpler, wouldn't it? I wish I could." He gave a half bow, and left the private dining area. He hoped that Prof. McGonagall would be able to take the time to collect herself before she left.


	18. Marauders

**Chapter 18: Marauders**

 **Monday afternoon, December 25, 1995**

At lunch, Harry walked into the Great Hall fully intending to eat with the rest of the students and staff. He was confronted with a game-changer in the form of a weary-looking man in muggle tweed holding a leash attached to a large black dog.

Harry sighed. "Prof. Lupin," he glanced down, "Padfoot, what are you doing here?"

The man gave a weary smile. "Is there someplace we can talk privately?" he asked, with a tug at the leash.

Harry shrugged. "Sure. Follow me. You might want to prepare yourself," he added with a smile. "The food Hogwarts offers has been upgraded recently." He walked over to the invisible door and waited for the two visitors to catch up. He put his hand on Prof. Lupin's arm at the same time he touched the door handle, and ushered them inside. This was complicated by the fact, newly discovered, that the door revealing effect didn't transmit though a pet's leash; Padfoot was severely confused when the two humans disappeared and he was dragged through what was, to him, a wall.

Inside the Magic House food court, Remus dropped the leash and Padfoot promptly stretched and changed into a leashed Sirius Black, who promptly engulfed Harry in a firm hug. "Happy Christmas," his godfather whispered. Releasing Harry, he stepped back and said, "And what's with not writing for half a year?"

Harry refused to be cowed. He was also riding high on the two spiritual experiences he had gone though that day – Sirius was just not going to dent his calm. "Let's leave that until later," he said calmly. "I can explain some of what you see, but I've had some issues with listening and tracking charms this year – well, I know about them this year, and my security has suddenly become very important to me. Let's eat first, and I can explain where we are, and then I'll take you somewhere to talk about anything else you want to know."

"OK," agreed Sirius, after a searching look. "So, what _is_ this place?"

"Three Christmas lunches, please," Harry called out to the air, knowing her would be heard by the attending house-elves. As the platters of hors d'oeuvres appeared, Harry said, "It appears that we will be dining on finger foods and light snacks. Don't feel that you have to get your fill here – I can easily have these sent to my … um, where we'll be going next." The two men nodded, just looking at the table full of small delicacies. "Really, take anything you like – and don't just gobble them," he ordered, looking at Sirius. "The food served here deserves appreciation and attention. I wouldn't say that refinement is the order of the day, but, well, this food is really on a different level that what you're used to."

Lupin's eyes were wide as his mouth was full. "Oh, yeth," he garbled in agreement. Sirius immediately went for his own selection and his mouth was likewise stuffed.

Harry began nibbling as went on talking. "It turns out that there is a provision in Hogwarts for those who feel rejected by their sorted Houses and move elsewhere in the castle." He talked a bit about how he had left Gryffindor dorms for his own safety, how Neville, Luna, and Hermione had joined him, and they had been unwittingly been assigned to Magic House. "The name is stupid and boring, we have no mascot, and the color is just a pearly gray," he said, tapping at his lapels. "Our ties have all the colors of the other houses that we might belong to along the outside, which also looks kind of dumb. And we only have four students earning points, so we're a joke in the House Cup race, and not enough for a Quidditch team." He paused to savor his canape and reach for a bit of salmon on a potato cake.

"But for all that, we're the best defended students here. Hermione put together a spell that Prof. Flitwick calls the Doorway of Khepera," Lupin choked on his food a bit, "which allows us to travel anywhere in the castle through magically appearing doorways. We have made our House common room separate – and disconnected – from our dorm rooms, and our lavatories are likewise disconnected. No one can get to us because the rooms we use have no other way in except for our Doorways – and we control that spell completely."

Harry looked at the two adults. "I'm about to take you to our common room. Do either of you have any spells on you that you want to keep?"

The abrupt question made both men raise their eyebrows slightly, but both let it go and simply shook their heads 'no'. Harry stood. "Very well. Please step through the black doorway into the common room, and move away from the landing area so that we don't barrel into your backs. That hurts," he added. "I have to be the last one though, as the Door will disappear as soon as I'm through." He waved his hand at the wall opposite the doorway into the Great Hall and the black Door appeared. He held out his right hand in invitation. "After you."

With curious expressions, Sirius Black was soon followed by Remus Lupin. Harry waited for a three count, and then stepped through himself. He was relieved to see that both had listened to his warning about moving forward.

Remus was looking around at the lush greenery and the window-wall and making appreciative noises. Sirius immediately commandeered the sofa that was fully within the sun's warmth – Harry had hoped that he would be able to sit there, but well, being a host had its downsides, sometimes. Sirius was playing with a small piece of string in his hands.

"I take it that we can talk, now?" asked Sirius.

Harry nodded. "The Door has a small side-effect of cancelling all the spells that we've been tagged with. No listening spells or location spells have made it through to give us away."

"That explains how my collar reverted to its pre-transfiguration state. Good. So back to my first question: what's with not writing this year?"

Harry looked back calmly. "Your letter offered weaselly evasions of responsibility. I can see that you are not going to be a help, so I chose to concentrate on everything I have to deal with."

Sirius glanced at Lupin, who smiled and shook his head. "So it went something like this; you got the letter, read part of it, and then threw it away?"

Harry shrugged, then blushed a little. "Burned it, actually."

Sirius cradled his head in his hands for along moment, saying "I don't know whether to laugh or to cry." He straightened up. "Harry, that letter was a masterful piece of fiction that I put a lot of effort into, and Moony consulted on. I'm a little hurt you didn't get a chance to read all that crap … but I'm _most_ disappointed that you didn't read the last paragraph where I hoped that you _remembered the map password_."

Harry gulped. "Um … there was a real letter underneath?" _Damn, I've been stupid_.

"Yes, Harry," said Moony.

"Yeah," agreed Sirius. "Let's see if I can give you the highlights. Um … Ok, first of all, Molly Weasley is an incredibly manipulative, stubborn woman, who isn't above using a potion or two to get her own way. She also," he held up a hand for emphasis, "has an enormous heart. It is pretty clear that she is bent on adding you to the Weasley family through marriage, and what you want or don't want is kind of irrelevant to her. I put up with her and her incredible, unthinking disrespect because she is very … tight … with Albus Dumbledore. And _he_ … is the person holding my strings."

Harry scowled in thought, "So, it's Dumbledore that you're trying to deceive?"

"Exactly." Padfoot paused. "He is the one who knew that I was innocent, but he let them lock me up anyway. He is the one that dropped you with the Dursleys and kept you there, even though they hurt you. He is the one that has put you through all these stupid trials at school, even though his job is to keep you safe. Clearly, he has some plan that he's putting you through, and he isn't all that concerned with your welfare."

Harry nodded. Remus came and sat down on the other end of Sirius' couch.

"Now, me – my job is all about your welfare. I am supposed to keep you safe, but I don't think that's going to work. My track record at the beginning wasn't very good. You're here, my new jail cell is Headquarters, and I doubt you'd do well if I locked you up to keep you safe. I know I'm not." Harry nodded agreement. "So what I'm going to try to do is teach you – teach you to be good enough to keep _yourself_ safe. Sound ok?"

"Um, yeah." Harry looked at his godfather with new respect. He didn't seem to be that different from the joking, enjoy-life-at-all-costs guy that he met almost two years ago, but … well, there was something that Harry couldn't put his finger on. It made a huge difference in how Harry felt about him, and … it was good. He _trusted_ Padfoot now.

Remus spoke up, "So, take it in order; what has happened this year so far?"

Harry uncomfortably replied, "I've probably covered all of it … I don't think anything else big has happened other than the House thing."

The two men didn't even look at each other. Simultaneously, they each reached into a jacket pocket and produced newspaper clippings. _I don't think I'm going to like this at all_.

Harry was absolutely correct. He had never started to read the Daily Prophet this year, and apparently, he had missed out. Lupin handed over the first article:

 _Vengeful Oaths: An Unwelcome Habit Returns_

 _The education given at Hogwarts is supposed to cover how the Wizarding World is as risk when the wrong words are spoken in anger. This did not stop a fifth-year student from swearing at Professor Delores Umbridge, threatening her "by all that's holy" to keep her from carrying out her Ministry-assigned educational duties._

" _I was administering a routine detention, when the child threatened me so that he could leave the detention early. It is quite clear that the Headmaster has completely lost control over those delinquents, and the Ministry needs to do something. I'm going to propose some new laws right away so that the Wizengamot can keep this under control," reported Miss Umbridge._

 _While Professor Umbridge will be returning to her post as the Under-Secretary to the Minister of Magic, she did not provide any details about the student or what their infractions were. Our intrepid reporter has discovered that the last name recorded at Hogwarts for detention last night was the one and only Harry Potter, The Boy-Who-Lived. Has Mr. Potter gone out of control? What was he so desperate to escape? Was he late for a romantic tryst – and with whom? We will update this story when more information is revealed!_

Harry groaned. "How did I miss this?" he moaned. Both Marauders chuckled.

"That's not the half of it, kid," said Lupin. "No follow up article was ever published, and any inquiries about this with Miss Umbridge were never answered. For a few weeks, there, it was a pretty hot topic in the pubs. Most people have forgotten about it now, though."

Harry's shoulder drooped. He sat down and told them about what Umbridge has demanded of him, and how he lost his temper.

Sirius said nothing, just narrowed his eyes as he thought. "So, what happened next?"

Harry recounted his ostracism from Gryffindor and his encounter with Luna, and how he has faced down the girl-pack of Ravenclaws. "Not bad," opined Sirius. "You've got the right approach. Let's just make sure that you've got the spells to back that up."

"Oh, that's not a problem," said Harry confidently. "I've got a book that should teach me all the spells I need. First, I was working on putting all of this," he waved his hand around, "together. Lately, I've been working on making the Lair and our rooms secure, but I'm moving on to defense and combat, and then I'll probably look at transfiguration again just before OWLs."

Remus furrowed his brow. "What book covers all those subjects?"

Harry called out, "Dobby, please put _The Book_ on this study table." A ghostly snap, and _The Book_ – all ten by sixteen by six inches dropped two inches onto the table with a resounding 'thump'. Sirius got up to take a closer look, but was held back by Lupin's outstretched arm.

"What is the full name of that book, Harry?" Remus asked tightly.

"Um, _Spells and Rituals That Will Change Your Life, 1st Edition_." He read from the inside title page dutifully.

Remus's eyes widened. "Where did you get this? Who have you been talking to?"

Harry looked puzzled. "I got this from the library, and when I told Madame 00Pince that I wanted the book for longer than my checkout period, she withdrew it from the library and gave it to me." He shrugged. "I haven't done anything wrong, here. What's the fuss about?" He perched himself on a nearby table.

Remus looked up at the ceiling. "The first edition, the one you have, was put together in the mid to late 1800's. The man who collected all the spells, potions, and rituals was a bit obsessed, said he wanted to make the ultimate collection of every spell and potion known." Remus paused. "He succeeded, and that caused a _major_ uproar. Most of the established families accused him of stealing their family recipes and private spell books – which he probably did, and they pressured the Ministry to recall the book so their family secrets wouldn't get out." He paused to eat another hors d'oeuvre that he snagged off a nearby plate.

Continuing, "The Ministry acted fast, but … somehow, copies kept turning up. There were a number of small-time magical crooks in the early 1900's that used the spells and potions in the book to fuel their careers. And each time the authorities examined the books these criminals had, they found a subtle compulsion on the book that had infected the owners."

Harry raised his hands in a not-gonna-touch-this gesture. "Hey, if you know what to look for, by all means! Be my guest. I don't think that I've been infected, but … knock yourself out."

Remus warily approached the book on the table, wand out. Harry suppressed a laugh – it was like Remus expected _The Book_ to attack him. Not an impossibility – he remembered _The Monster Book of Monsters_.

Remus cast a few spells to no effect. Then Harry called out, "Hey! The book has an entire section on detection charms. Maybe we could use the book against itself?"

Sirius and Remus exchanged looks. "Okay," said Sirius slowly. "If there is a concern, you're already infected, Harry, so you're the only one that will actually handle the book."

"Right," answered Harry. "Dobby?"

The hyperactive little guy popped in almost at Harry's feet and began bouncing in excitement. "Does Master Harry Potter Sir have jobs for Dobby Elf?"

A thought occurred to Harry. "Dobby, please get the Pince book for me." Harry wanted to run an idea by the adults, but Dobby was too quick. He was immediately back with the slim book on one hand like a platter. Harry took it, and asked, "Dobby, can you tell what spells are on The Book?" Harry indicated the massive tome under discussion. _This could be easier and faster_. Dobby had been obscurely shamed that he couldn't tell what the spells were when he did his magic detection, so he had been working on that whenever he could get Harry and his housemates to help him. Hermione had been mildly obsessed with the project for a few weeks, and Dobby was getting pretty good – although how he identified each spell was a little screwy.

Dobby peered at the volume and snapped his fingers, producing several different colored glows around the work. "There is the fixes-its charm, the don't-hurts-me charm, and the nots-as-heavies charm; those were put on The Biggest Book by Master Harry Potter Sirs. Those," Dobby pointed at a mass of faint, intertwined colors, "are lefted overs from Master Harry Potter Sir's findings charms. And there," Dobby pointed at a yellow glow, "is the extras-outs-of-the-ways charm to keep The Biggest Book from being even Biggest-er."

"Huh. Anything else?"

"Nos, Master Harry Potter Sirs."

"Okay. I'm pretty sure that there aren't any other magics on this book, but just to recap; I cast a minor repair charm to fix a worn corner on the cover, an imperturbable charm to keep it from being damaged again, and a featherweight charm so I could carry it without ripping my arms off. I've used an indexing charm several times to find specific spells – apparently, that left some magical residue. And there's a charm that allows the book to have even more pages than it looks. If you don't think that's it, I can find and copy out all the detection charms … but it's going to take a couple rolls of parchment to get them all." He looked expectantly at Remus and Sirius.

Sirius sported a large grin. "I think he's got it handled, Moony. The book is safe." To Harry, "Nicely done! So where'd you find the indexing charm? I know that Moony has muttered something about wishing he had one before."

"So true," Moony murmured. "Publishing in the magical world has some significant defects." He straightened. "You asked Dobby to get 'The Pince book', correct?"

"Yes," said Harry warily.

"The indexing spell is in that?"

"Unh-huh," agreed Harry. "When she gave me _The Book_ , I asked for a guide on how to care for a book like this. She gave me this book on caring for books and it shows how to index them as well."

Remus took the Pince book and began leafing through it. "Hey – it doesn't have an index!" Sirius and Harry laughed, Remus joining them after a moment. "Yes, it's ironic, but if she understood that not having one was a problem, why isn't it in there?" Remus asked. Both of his audience just shrugged at him.

Sirius snapped his fingers. "I wonder which Pince wrote this book?"

Remus looked up from reading, startled. "That _would_ answer some things, wouldn't it," he agreed.

"What do you mean?" asked Harry.

"Well, the librarian for Hogwarts has always been Madame Pince," began Remus. Sirius waved at him in a hurry-up motion to continue – and make it short. "About 20 years after Hogwarts got started as a school, the first collection of magical books was donated to the castle by a powerful wizard, Magister Pince, and the castle built a room to house the library. The person who donated the books also specified in his donation that he wanted to provide a living for his sister, Madame Pince – the books belonged to her, and Hogwarts was to provide the upkeep for them. Having Madame Pince own the library books forced Hogwarts to hire her as the librarian, nicely providing for her living like her brother wanted. So the castle hummed along its merry way until she died a ripe old 120 years later." Remus paused and ate a canape.

"At which point … the library disappeared. As best as the Headmaster and his staff could make out, the library was still under the ownership of Madame Pince, and could not be operated by anyone else." Remus shook his head and rolled his eyes. "Magical contracts," he explained to Harry. "Some of the stupidest things in the Wizarding world are because of magical agreements that don't know when to stop. Anyway," he continued, "by naming the replacement Madame Pince, the library reappeared and life could go on. At first, any change in the 'Madame Pince's caused a great deal of upheaval, as students couldn't remember that this new face had to be called by the old name – which caused the library to blink in and out of existence while the students were making their mistakes, and which seriously annoyed students caught inside the library when it was no longer there. So someone got a bright idea, and now all the Madame Pince's wear a medallion that changes their appearance to show the original MadamePince at around age 80. Follow so far?"

"Um, yeah, I think so …"

"So, there tends to be a little confusion in how the library operates when there's been a changeover, as nobody really notices. We don't know if it is the current Pince that made these spells or not …"

Harry picked up the thread, "… and if this is a new Pince, she probably didn't know about the value that this book has, and just wanted to get rid of a large, outdated book …"

"… to a student that appreciated it," finished Sirius. "And someone saw you with it."

Harry's brows met. "What?"

Sirius pulled another newspaper clipping from his pocket and handed it to Harry.

 _Oct 4, 1995 - Harry Potter Explained!_

 _We have long been entertained by Harry Potter's adventures, from his early defeat of Voldemort to his spectacular flying shown in the first Trial of the Tri-Wizard Tournament. But Harry's extensive magical ability may not be an inborn talent at all, this reporter has discovered!_

 _Mr. Potter has been seen this year – infrequently – with an overly large book that bears an extensive resemblance to_ Spells and Rituals _, a book that was banned immediately after publishing in the mid-1880s. According to claims made by the editor, this tome is the most complete collection of spells, potions, and rituals that ever existed in the western Wizarding world. The inclusion of any (and all) power-boosting potions and rituals, dark or not, means that Harry Potter, our one-time savior, has the ability to increase his magical abilities far beyond where they should be at his age._

 _We spoke with an Unspeakable, who is known only as The Golden Niffler. "The use of a Dark ritual would not immediately affect Mr. Potter outside of the ritual's intended effect; it would much later that the ritual could corrupt him and twist his inclinations toward evil." This might explain the reports we all received two years ago when the Boy-Who-Lived produced a corporeal Patronus while in his third year. At that time, his power would have been increased, while his heart would still have been pure enough to generate such a powerful beacon of the Light._

 _With this new revelation, what can we expect from Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, in the future? If The Golden Niffler is correct, with his formidable spell arsenal and his darkening heart, Mr. Potter may quite easily take the place of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named … but given his age, perhaps he could be rescued by the love of one of the many girls of Hogwarts? Only time will tell!_

Harry thumped his head on the table. "Oh, Merlin," he whispered.

The smile on Sirius's face was … sort of kind. He also was definitely enjoying Harry's embarrassment, but there was a bit of kindness in there, too. _I suppose that's as much as I'm going to get._

"Okay that's _how_ you got it; now the question is – _why_?"

"Yeah, about that …" muttered Harry to his chest. Both men waited. Harry sighed. "I was researching how Heaven's messengers interact with the Wizarding world because of how Umbridge behaved. Pince – the current one, I mean," and both men nodded, "gave me three references that might help. This was the third one."

"So … what did you find?" prompted Remus.

Harry took a deep breath. "Don't freak out on me, okay? Everything's all right now." Both men's eyebrows tried to climb right up their foreheads, but they nodded. "I found a ritual to contact Heaven and ask a favor. I did it – last night, in fact – and I can tell you that I didn't get what I asked for and was told that what I wanted wasn't something that Heaven could give me. Everything worked out okay."

Remus was impressively still, and Sirius was … impressively bland. "And what were you asking Heaven for?"

Harry sighed. He had tried to avoid this, but now … well, best to just get it over with. "I was asking to join my family."

Sirius _still_ wasn't freaking out, and that made Harry nervous. Sirius nodded. "I can see that. It would be a very attractive notion for someone with your history. I'm very glad, however, that you are still with us." Harry noted that, astonishingly, Sirius' eyes were wet.

Harry pressed his lips together before he mumbled, "Me, too."

"Okay, so that's straightened out. I take it that getting your hands on," Sirius gestured to _The Book_ , " _The Ultimate Compendium_ led to your escape from Gryffindor?"

Harry explained how he had rescued Luna Lovegood, ("Pretty girl, startlingly brilliant, clear thinker, doesn't use sanity" from Remus), and that led him to the research, _The Book_ , and the Lair. Harry continued explaining about his year, but was interrupted when he told of his confrontation with McGonagall.

Both men had their mouths hanging open. "You brassed off _McGonagall_? And she let you _live_?" Remus had some history with her, apparently.

"Yeah, I really wasn't expecting to survive." Harry relayed the dispensation that she had given him that morning. "I was willing to put myself in the line of fire to make things better for a former friend. She said it was a tremendously Gryffindor thing to do, and so she wasn't going to give me punishment." Harry quickly added, "I've been waiting for two months to find out that I had a year of detentions or something; maybe she thought that being on pins and needles all that time was enough of a penalty, or something."

The Marauders laughed, nodded, and Sirius gestured at Harry to continue his story. He told of McGonagall resigning from the Headship of Gryffindor, and Remus held up his hand to interrupt. In his hand was another newspaper article.

Harry didn't take it; he just banged his head on the table. Remus began to read it in an officious voice.

 _Nov. 14, 1995 - New Head for Gryffindor_

 _In the most astonishing turn of events, yesterday evening the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts, the renowned Transfiguration teacher, Professor Minerva McGonagall, stepped down from her position as the Head of House for Gryffindor. The announcement was made by the Hogwarts Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, after the evening meal, with Ms. McGonagall visibly displeased behind him._

 _Professor Dumbledore said, "After a series of discussions, our Transfiguration Mistress has asked to step down from her position as Head of Gryffindor House. She feels that her workload with her other positions force her to shortchange the students in her House. For the remainder of the year, Prof. Babbling will be serving as the Head of House for Gryffindor, and that arrangement will be reviewed over the summer months before a permanent appointment is made."_

 _There was an immediate call for a House meeting by the new Head of Gryffindor, and an announcement was made extending a special invitation to Misters Longbottom and Potter to attend. This, dear readers is significant; why would either of these Gryffindors need a special invitation to attend a House meeting? Fortunately, a special informant has seen fit to give us a summary of what went on. "Prof. Babbling asked both boys if they would consider rejoining Gryffindor. We all knew that Potter had been sleeping somewhere else in the castle – the rat was dangerous, so we didn't really care. Good riddance. But, Longbottom! He has always been so quiet! And now it looks like he moved out, too, and now Babbling was blaming us because Potter has a temper and Longbottom wanted to cry all alone!"_

 _It seems that this year at Hogwarts is full of secret dealings and underhanded ploys; The Boy-Who-Lived has apparently acquired a forbidden store of knowledge right under the very noses of his instructors, and now may have engineered the unwilling resignation of one of Hogwart's most formidable professors from one of her positions. From the evidence, he has seemingly also hoodwinked Neville Longbottom, the grandson of the daunting Dame Augusta Longbottom, into following his lead and partaking of this rebellious path._

 _Professor Dumbledore has indicated that no disciplinary actions are pending against Mr. Potter for his blatant disrespect towards his House and the school. While we would all like to know just what The Boy-Who-Lived intends to do in the middle of his OWL year, it also bears reiterating that the Headmaster does not intend to punish Mr. Potter for his actions. Just what is Prof. Dumbledore thinking, to allow this behavior to go unchecked, even … to spread? Will Hogwarts still be functioning in ten years' time, given such poor leadership and management?_

"Probably not," said Harry, blandly.

"Hear, hear," called Sirius, raising his drink.

Remus followed suit, noting, "They said the same thing about us, too. Sadly, nothing ever dies fast enough."

Harry grinned. He grabbed a drink of wassail and a small plate of bread slices covered in hot artichoke dip – talking this much was thirsty work, and the food was being neglected horribly. After replenishing his fuel, he talked about his experiences with setting limits for Hermione's involvement in his life, and how that had led to her being completely alone at the Gryffindor House meeting, and how Babbling had suggested she try a potions purge – and what that revealed.

Remus frowned. " _That_ should have lit a fire under the staff – Dumbledore should have stamped that out as soon as he discovered it, not _allowed_ it. What is he thinking?"

Sirius was still phlegmatic; he calmly replied, "Whatever goals he is working toward must be very important to him. He is willing to do some very wrong things so that he can reach those goals, and the consequences of discovery are pretty bad. If he's willing to deal with the backlash of this news, his goals have to be vital to him." He raised a glass to Harry. "This gives us a place to start thinking about what he's trying to accomplish."

Harry looked critically at Sirius. "You're really different than last year."

Sirius shrugged. "I have to play a part. Dumbledore and his acolytes believe that I'm an eternal child, unable to grow up, take responsibility, and think critically about my actions before I make them. I behave in ways to reinforce those beliefs, so that I can achieve my goals in spite of their meddling." He grinned. "I keep telling them I'm a Marauder, but none of them seem to really understand what that means. They can even see me refusing to abandon my Godfathering responsibilities, and they think I can't commit to anything. Not my fault if they don't get it!"

Remus laughed. "They all persist in thinking that I'm the 'staid, respectable' one that did all the planning for us." He shook his head. "Morons."

Harry was amazed at the reality behind the myth they had created. "Don't be too surprised, Harry. Making people think what we wanted them to think, and steering them away from what was actually going on, was one of our main tools for getting away with what we did. That's pretty obvious, right? So why aren't people thinking that it's a tactic we use now?" Remus shrugged. "Because we're still doing it, and it still works." He fixed Harry with a penetrating look. "Dumbledore uses it, too – almost more than we do. His staff, not so much. You'll need to learn to see the reality behind his actions if you want to counter them effectively."

Harry nodded.

"So what happened next?"

Harry went into the formation of the Lair, pulling Luna into it, and their discovery of being assigned to another House. He simply groaned when Sirius, grinning broadly, pulled another newspaper article out of his pocket.

 _Nov. 27, 1995 - New House Formed at Hogwarts – Dumbledore Out of Control?_

 _This past weekend, four rebellious students at Hogwarts have officially been assigned to a_ _ **fifth**_ _House – the newly revived House of Magic. (See page 5 for the curious history of this secretive House.) Sunday morning, a House point counter appeared with grey Moonstone along with the familiar ruby, emerald, topaz and sapphire counters._

 _The students that have been pulled into this House – without Sorting! – are the two rebels we have previously mentioned in articles about the troubled school, Mr. Potter and Mr. Longbottom. They have been joined by two young ladies. The first is a fourth year student of some reputation, Miss Luna Lovegood, previously of Ravenclaw, and the second is a known swot and malcontent, a Miss Hermione Grader, formerly of Gryffindor._

 _Albus Dumbledore was visibly upset at this development, as were the staff that do the actual work of running the school. Curiously, the affected students made a public explanation. "Hogwarts had assigned us this house because we can no longer trust in the Headmaster. If you object to the creation of another House within Hogwarts, just like we do, please use whatever pull you have to force our Headmaster to eliminate Magic House, so we can go back to the arrangements we had before all this."_

 _Clearly, the Headmaster of Hogwarts (also the Chief Warlock and Supreme Mugwump) is unable to control what is going on at the school he (nominally) runs. The plea to have this new House removed came from Mr. Neville Longbottom, which makes for some interesting questions to ponder: Why would known rebels such as Mr. Longbottom and Mr. Potter request to be placed back into a House that gave them such troubles earlier this year? How were the two girls assigned to this House without their consent? Wherever in the castle is the new House located? The Daily Prophet will bring you these answers and more in the coming weeks!_

Harry just shook his head. "They're really hammering Dumbledore hard."

Remus replied, "Exactly. The Ministry has been pushing to cloud Dumbledore's reputation since before the school year started, and they're ignoring possible shots at you to do it. Someone has decided that Dumbledore has to be discredited, and we're seeing the results of their efforts."

Harry sighed, wearily. "Is that everything the Prophet has said about me?"

Remus simply said, "Yes," while Sirius asked, "You were expecting more? On what subject, exactly?"

Harry hunched his shoulders. "Um, … on the alarms?"

"What alarms are those?"

"Well, it's like this …" Harry recounted the staff insistence on gender alarms in the dorms, even though the only ones that could get in at all were trusted. "So we set the Boys' alarm to sound in Flitwick's office, and the Girls' in Dumbledore's." Harry was obviously proud of himself.

Remus and Sirius had matching grins. Remus asked, "So how did that play out?"

"The Boys' alarm is a loud foghorn. The test warped every piece of furniture and flat surface in his office, and a _reparo_ isn't fixing it. All of his bookshelves are crooked, and the books don't slip out easily, the drawers on his desk won't open anymore, and his desktop is kind of … ripply." Harry ducked his head. "Hermione was in charge of the Girls' alarm, and set it to sound off in Dumbledore's office. It is so loud and piercing that Dumbledore's glasses cracked … when he was in the Great Hall."

Both men were gasping for breath. As Sirius calmed, he said, "Give them what they want, and give it to 'em nice and hard!"

Remus gasped, "Exactly!" The Marauder's high-fived each other.

Sirius eventually calmed down completely. "We didn't bring the newspaper clipping just to embarrass you, Harry. I thought that you'd want to make a reply, and having the articles right here will make your response a lot better."

That sounded good to Harry, so under a great deal of conflicting supervision (very little of which was adult in nature), He wrote a letter to the newspaper:

 _Dear Daily Prophet,_

 _I have been unable to read your publication this year and thus did not see your articles on me until this past week. I wish to correct some assumptions that you made in your article entitled "Harry Potter Explained!" from October 4, 1995._

 _I began the year badly, unwittingly trespassing in areas that I did not understand, and that led to the original DADA teacher of this year, Professor Delores Umbridge, fleeing for her life. In researching what I said and trying to make sure that nobody might be in danger from my unthinking idiocy, I found a source in the Hogwarts library that suggested reading through_ Spells and Rituals That Will Change Your Life, 1st Edition _. As that is an old book I would not expect to find in a school library, I wrote to the publishers, hoping that they could direct me to a source where I could purchase this volume. It wasn't until their reply that I became aware that I was trying to purchase a trapped book, and I immediately quit trying to track this book down. I did eventually find the information I needed to insure that those around me are safe, in a volume in the Hogwarts library._

 _Your reporter is incorrect in assuming that I boosted my power when I was 13; I have never taken part in any power-boosting rituals nor taken any power-boosting potions. My ability with the Patronus charm comes simply – and solely – from the memories of the love that James and Lily Potter had for their baby boy. If, however, any girls of Hogwarts would like to persuade me that a dark path is not one I should follow, I believe that I would be open experiencing their … persuasions, as I am currently without a girlfriend and the castle gets very cold in the winter months._

 _But not Hufflepuffs. I_ know _they're supposed to be the House that everyone trusts but … if they're all so loyal, doesn't that mean that they're loyal to their House first, and anyone else only maybe second? I bet there's even some sort of Hufflepuff Conspiracy, where they all get together and talk loyally to each other and help each other get stuff done … but_ what stuff _? I shudder to think._

 _Additionally, in your article headlined, "New House Formed at Hogwarts – Dumbledore Out of Control?" from November 7, 1995, your reporter speculated on why Mr. Longbottom and myself wanted to be placed back in Gryffindor. A moment's serious contemplation will reveal the answer: Magic House is incredibly LAME! We have only four members (and no possibility of forming a quidditch team), no mascot or shield, the House color is gray (and our ties have little colored piping around the edges; it's incredibly stupid) – there is NOTHING about Magic House that is in any way worth our time!_

 _Except, of course, the fact that we are, finally, safe. One of our number actually was actually dosed with a loyalty potion by Prof. Dumbledore, and he tacitly allowed a love potion to be administered as well. He is not, to my knowledge, a rapist – perhaps his age prevents him from engaging in that activity? – but he certainly condones that crime._

 _None of us are safe while that man is in power, which is why I had to take responsibility for my security into my own hands. Those students that feel the same way have also taken up the burden of their own safety – in a school touted to be 'the safest place in Wizarding Britain' – and we were all placed in this colorless House with the insipid ties. (Oh, and as our safety is our driving consideration, we will not be revealing the location of our Lair, thank you very much. You can see why, I'm sure.)_

 _Sincerely,_

 _Harry James Potter_

 _This letter may be published if and only if the entire letter is published without editing, and in its entirety. HJP_

"Well, that should certainly do the trick."

"Trick of what?" asked Harry.

"It has enough anti-Dumbledore wording to guarantee that it gets published, and makes you out to be a regular guy with some heavy responsibilities that you shouldn't have to handle on your own. It's got enough gossip to make the busybodies be interested, and enough substantial news to make it worth reading for the more sober-minded crowd." Remus sported a rakish grin that Sirius would've been hard pressed to match. "And the Hufflepuff Conspiracy mention should get tongues wagging. It comes up every so often, and it's due for a resurgence."

Harry was startled. "Really?"

Remus shrugged. "No evidence, just hard working people that keep the wheels turning for the Wizarding World. They don't get much respect, so implying that they control the entire world will get you some bonus points with them. Maybe you can find a nicely stacked 'Puff 6th Year that wants to give you some …extra tutoring?"

Harry blushed and ducked his head. Sirius roared, mostly at Harry's response. The conversation went all over the place after that, Harry being treated to stories, half-finished plans that had never gotten off the ground, and some of the theories and speculations that the two men had come up with over the years.

Dinner was served in the Lair, and ended with a truly astonishing discovery. "So, whadda think the range on this Doorway thing is?" asked Sirius.

Harry was startled. "I don't really know. It works anywhere in the castle …"

"How about the Chamber of Secrets?" asked Remus. "I'd really like to be able to see that."

"Well, let's try it out." Harry concentrated, then invoked the Door. The anchored end appeared in the Lair just like it was supposed to. "Who wants to go first?"

Both men looked at each other. Silence stretched out, made itself at home, and got comfortable. Finally, Sirius said, "Um, me, I guess." He stepped up to the black Door hanging in the air, hesitated, and stepped through. Remus, visibly steeling himself, did the same, followed by Harry. He emerged in the Chamber of Secrets, lit only by Sirius, holding his wand aloft.

The gloom stretched all around them, outlining what looked to be a moat around the base of the Salazar statue, and dimly showing the walls about ten paces away. The air was musty, with a bit of a sharp tang, indicating something was decaying. Both Marauders looked around a bit, idly wandering from wall to wall, when they stopped at one wall, tilting their heads back to see the top of the statue as best they could.

"Yep, this is it. Ready to go back now?"

Remus and Sirius exchanged glances. They clearly wanted to look around. "So where's this basilisk I was hearing about?" Sirius affected a nonchalant tone.

Matching his tone, Harry replied, "You're leaning on it."

The shrieks were golden in his ears. Manly shrieks, yes – but neither adult handled the revelation well.

Back in the Lair (which was _very_ soon after the Marauders discovered the basilisk corpse), Harry had to recount – again – his fight with the monster, and reassure the two that he had not seen any sign of a descendant snake in the years since. Remus lamented the loss of the basilisk for potion ingredients, pointing out that Harry could have made a great deal of money if it had been harvested immediately.

Sirius explained to Harry that the Door might be a spell that insured his security at Hogwarts, but he went on to explain how it would destabilize the relations with the Goblin Nation; anything that made it possible to steal from the Goblins earned their unremitting hostility. "Think about how you're going to manage that," he warned. "What you do now will have long-term implications. No pressure," he added with a grin. "Just think about it, okay?"

Both Marauders took their leave at that point, seeing as it was almost curfew for Harry. Remus muttered, "We'll be back when we can; give us a letter on your schedule," as he ducked through the Door, leading to the main room of the Shrieking Shack. Harry found that Christmas Day was much more rewarding that he would have thought. But _boy_ was he exhausted!


	19. High Inquisitor

**Chapter 19: High Inquisitor**

 **Tuesday, December 26, 1995**

Harry started the day … badly.

"Great Master Harry Potter Sir, youse is gettings out of beds now," reported Dobby.

"Mhwah?"

"Magics Professor tells Dobbys to make Great Master Harry Potter Sir to be ready for runnings right now."

Sleepily, Harry rubbed his eyes and lifted his head from his pillow. "Okay …"

It may have been the wrong thing to say, because Dobby snapped his fingers in a staccato beat that propelled Harry out of bed, into his neglected exercise clothes, and through a Door that was on his wall. Harry stumbled into the Lair, where he was confronted by a demon in a pink tracksuit – Prof. Burbage.

She thrust a potions vial at him. "Drink," she ordered, and Harry, still caught in the process of waking up, chugged it down without hesitation.

Hesitation would have been the correct reaction. "Blumpf!" he gagged.

"Yeah, really wakes you up, doesn't it!" Burbage was insanely cheerful. "I woke up early and realized that you have been lazing around since the winter break started. We can't let you backslide! Get moving!" Prof. Burbage placed a Door somewhere in the castle, and pushed him through her anchored Door in the Lair. They both emerged in a corridor dimly lit by torches that were almost to the point of guttering out.

"Sixth floor," she explained. "We're going to be pushing off the wall every so often during this morning's run. Do what I do, and be sure to keep up, because your momentum is what will make some of these moves possible," and she took off in a near sprint.

Harry followed.

A full hour later, Harry slowed beside his pink tormentor to a stop.

She handed him another potions vial. "Drink this. Were you out of breath at any time during the run?"

Harry warily took the potion, but downed it in one go. _It wasn't that bad. Odd._ He was confused about the question, but shook his head no.

"Good. That first potion makes sure that you are never out of breath, so we can talk normally during heavy exercise. This one makes it so you recover without pain from the workout. Now – remember back to when we jumped over that fallen suit of armor; how many arms were there on the floor?"

Harry mentally reviewed the act. "Um, three."

"And that works, too, good!" At Harry's doubtful and inquisitive look, she elaborated, "The potion also increases your mental acuity. Your recollection," she explained. "So now, during our morning runs, we can have a morning lecture and it won't interfere with what we're doing.

 _What fresh hell is this? A workout and a lecture even when school is out?_

His grumbles and muttered threats were ignored by his annoyingly cheerful Head of House, and his disgruntlement took him through his morning routine all the way through to breakfast.

It was hard to remain sour after a filling breakfast of Eggs Benedict, though. The elves had done something with the English muffin and the herbs that made the entire thing just _sing_ in his mouth _. Just too good. The only thing missing was bacon._

-o-

Afterwards, he began with what he had planned to do first today – writing a letter to Hermione.

 _Hermione,_

 _I was told that the Door spell might have diplomatic repercussions with the Goblins. Think about what you're willing to do with the spell and how we can keep it out of Dumbledore's hands; we can make decisions when you're back and we can all talk about it. I think that Nev and Luna might have insights that will help keep us safe. – Harry_

He sent that off with an excited Hedwig – she didn't have much to do lately – and Harry turned his attention to some speculation that Sirius and Remus had shared. He pulled out some parchment and began a list – it was so much easier to keep his thoughts straight that way.

1\. Study for OWLS

2\. Why did Dumbledore share information about Snape being a spy?

3\. How can I let Malfoy know how precarious his situation is?

4\. Figure out if I should date or not

5\. Goblin security vs Door security

6\. Dumbledore

7\. Tom Riddle

 _Huh_. Harry studied his list. _I didn't know that I had so much to deal with_. Admittedly, items two and three were problems that Sirius and Remus had dumped on him, and had more to do with making Dumbledore's life difficult, but there were hints that his plea to Heaven might impact his personal life in the future, so number four weighed heavily on his mind.

Oddly enough, Riddle's annual attempt on his life was the least of his worries right now. Certainly less important than his possible dating activities.

So, in time honored teen tradition, Harry blew off his studying, threats of mortal danger, threats against his freedom, threats against the realm, and worries about his happiness, and focused on getting back at a really annoying classmate. Okay, maybe that impacted his happiness … a bit.

 _So, Remus pointed out that the whole point of Pureblood politics is to insure that they and their progeny are privileged …_

-o-

Each of the following days began in more or less the same way. Jostled awake by his apologetic servant, potioned with some vile concoction, and forced to run around the sixth floor corridors, which had been turned into a mild obstacle course by the strategic use of the suits of armor. (At one point, Harry spun around to see the armor picking itself up off the floor and brushing itself off before assuming the usual positions.) The lectures were on Wizarding world culture and law – the kind of things that Harry was particularly ignorant of. He was able to remember everything, but understanding when to apply it eluded him on a near-constant basis.

As bad as it was, Harry took heart in the idea that his day was all downhill from there; after that potion, it couldn't possibly get any worse.

Harry was well acquainted with the concept of irony – he just forgot to apply it to himself. Quite the failure in thinking.

-o-

 **Monday, January 1, 1996**

Aside from a bit of bother when his letter to the _Daily Prophet_ was published (Albus was very disappointed in Harry and wanted to meet privately to discuss it; Harry was blasé about the problems Albus might have and blew him off), life was remarkably care-free (aside from how his mornings started with a pink-clad torturer's full attention.) Harry's care-free life, and the taunting that his morning attitude gave Fate, came to an end after a week. Lunch on New Year's Day proved to be delicious as usual (roasted veggies with some sort of mildly spicy sauce mixed with pasta, covered with strips of medium rare meat); it was the company that took a turn for the worse.

Harry was comfortably ensconced within the Magic House "eatery" (as Harry called it), when he saw a short individual, dressed entirely in pink, enter the Great Hall. _Oh, no_. She attempted to stride up to the sole table at the front of the Hall and amusingly failed – dumpy, squat individuals really can't pull off a determined stride.

"Headmaster Dumbledore? I have returned to carry out the Ministry oversight role that was mandated at the last Wizengamot meeting."

Harry had silently slipped out of the Magic House door and followed Ms. Umbridge up to the dining Professors. The stories of the Marauders sparked an idea of how to handle this. "Are you sure you want to do that?" Harry asked from behind her. "I mean, we're all full up on Professors right now, and I'm still liable to say something stupid at any moment."

The toad lady gave a quite visible start and swallowed a scream. "Oh – it's you," she said with obvious disdain as she turned to look at him.

"I'm afraid so," admitted Harry with a friendly grin. It was an effort, but she did deserve a chance to show her … lack of hostility, right?

Umbridge turned to face the staff at their table again. "I will be filling the Ministry-appointed position of High Inquisitor."

Harry said doubtfully, "There won't be any … events … like my detention with you, will there? As far as I know, that oath is still out there, and I don't want to deal with anything like that."

Umbridge eyed him suspiciously. "I have no plans for any kind of … physical coercion, Mr. Potter. You will find that as the Ministry representative at Hogwarts, I have no need of such methods to enforce discipline. As High Inquisitor, I will be requiring all classes to be taught up to Ministry-approved standards and avoiding all Ministry restricted subjects."

Harry tilted his head quizzically. "Did the Ministry also bring the WEA into the agreement? 'Cause if not, then there may be a mismatch between what the Ministry wants to teach and the OWL and NEWT tests we're taking at the end of the year. I don't think that the Ministry wants to be blamed for causing two or more years to fail their tests, do they?"

Umbridge showed a thin, obviously false, smile. "I am quite sure that the students that the Ministry cares about will have the education they require to do well on their testing."

 _Ah._ "I'll be sure to quote you on that, Ms. Umbridge. Thank you for clarifying." Harry gave a short bow and turned away.

"Just a moment, Mr. Potter," caroled Umbridge. She couldn't really carry a tune, but she attempted to sing out anyway. "What is that color on your robes?" She had turned to fully confront Harry, and behind her, he could see Prof. Burbage, along with Prof. Vector, sporting small, nasty little grins.

"Ah, yes. I suspect you may have heard about by being shanghaied into a fifth House? No Sorting, no request – I just woke up one morning to find that my robes had changed and that my House points were being recorded by a new hourglass. Can you do something about this, please?" Harry's immediate placing of responsibility on Umbridge was a shock to her, he could tell. _Yes, let's just ignore all my actions that led to me being placed in the last-ditch, catch-all House and make it your problem to fix._

"Hem, um … Headmaster Dumbledore, what steps have you taken to remove this illegal House?" As the politician she was, Umbridge immediately shifted the responsibility to an opponent.

Dumbledore was a reasonably capable politician, himself – and ducked out of the responsibility altogether. "I'm afraid that this House is not, itself, illegal, Delores. The Founders placed this Magic House in Hogwarts for reasons of their own, and I am powerless to disband it. Only the Sorting Hat can assign students to a House, so I cannot remove the students from Magic House, either." Twinkling furiously, he gave an apologetic half-shrug and said, "For all the power I have as Headmaster of Hogwarts, I am unable to change some very fundamental things."

The Headmaster turned to Harry, "I believe that we need to speak, Mr. Potter." _He finally got that right?_ "I will expect you in my office immediately after lunch." _And then he blows it_.

"That will not be happening, Professor. You know my conditions for meeting with you," and Harry began to tick them off his fingers, "neutral ground, not in secret or in private, not where I'm outnumbered, not where you have backup, and where we're both under neutral observation."

"Nevertheless, Harry, I must insist." The staff were swiveling their heads between Harry and Albus like they were in a tennis match.

"Ok then, Albus – what is the subject for this meeting?" The staff visibly flinched when Harry used the Headmaster's given name, but Albus wasn't fazed.

"Your academic performance."

"Fine then. Swear on your magic that this will be the only subject discussed and that you will not cast any spells at me whatsoever." Another staff flinch. _That's gotta be a point. Regardless of the game we're playing_.

Dumbledore frowned. "I do not make oaths, Harry."

"You mean, you refuse to be bound to this one subject – you probably intended to steer the conversation to your true subject all along – and that you would like to be able to cast spells at me at your whim. In fact, the only reason to refuse to be bound is that you aren't sure that you can control yourself and refrain from casting spells at me given the opportunity."

Prof. Burbage put in, "That's not necessarily true, Mr. Potter. There are many valid reasons for not giving magical oaths; it cannot be construed as endorsing the situation that the oath is intended to prevent."

 _Oops._ Harry turned to his House head. "Really? Can you teach me more after lunch?" She nodded assent. "Ok. I'll be in the Lair, or you can send for me. Thanks!" Harry made his escape through a Door, to the sounds of staff discussion. Umbridge's voice was particularly noticeable.

-o-

Scarcely ten minutes later, Harry was joined in the Lair by both Professors Burbage and Vector. Both claimed armchairs warmed by the sun, Prof. Burbage almost invisible among the feathery ferns that Neville had planted around that seat.

"Ok, so what did I miss?"

Prof. Vector began, "Well, your argument was really strong, Harry, except for that last bit. And most of the staff agrees that Dumbledore's refusal to take any oaths comes from the unforeseen consequences of the oath." Harry looked … completely lost. "For instance, can you define the subject of a conversation that you've had?"

"Um, sure."

"And you've had conversations that were about more than one thing?"

Harry nodded.

"So, the instant _you_ utter a sentence that is only about the second subject … you've just squibbed the Headmaster. By swearing that oath, he would be putting his entire magical abilities under the power of a teenager that didn't understand oaths. Can you see how completely dangerous and unwise that is?"

Harry took a deep breath. "Uh, yeah. I had no idea that I was, in effect, threatening him."

Wryly, Prof. Burbage told him, "That's a good way to think about it. You've just told Albus Dumbledore, the most powerful Wizard in centuries, that you will oppose him at every turn – won't even speak to him, in fact – unless he puts himself in a position where you can kill him with a breath. How do you propose to fix this?"

Harry winced. _Yeah, that did sound like a serious insult_. "Well, I'll have to publically confess that my proposed oath was stupid and put the Headmaster in unwarranted danger. That's a given," Harry admitted. "But as for the rest … hmm." He looked up at the ceiling. "I think that I'll have to publically list my conditions for a meeting, and ask for people to give me better ideas – something to show that I'm not unreasonable, but I'm very serious about not being vulnerable. Do you think that will work?"

Prof. Burbage replied, "Yes, I think so. A large part of the conflict you are dealing with is public opinion, and that would really draw them onto your side. Dumbledore is incapable of taking anyone else's opinion seriously, so you should score some major public relations points there."

"Thanks. When should I do that?"

"Not until the students return – you need as wide an audience as possible."

"So … Wednesday evening?"

Both teachers stood and made their way to the wall that anchored the Doors. "We'll be looking forward to it."

-o-

 _Dear Rita Skeeter,_

 _I had an encounter with the Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic today at Hogwarts. She is, evidently, filling the High Inquisitor position at Hogwarts, and her mission, as far as she is reporting it, is to make the classes and teachers hew to Ministry-approved standards._

 _I asked if the WEA had been brought into this educational shift, as I do not want to learn everything the Ministry desires me to know and then find that the WEA has an entirely different set of facts to test me over. My OWLS are a big thing, and I don't appreciate having the Ministry muck about with the standards half a year before I'm to be tested!_

 _Delores Umbridge said, "_ I am quite sure that the students that the Ministry cares about will have the education they require to do well on their testing _."_

 _I heard the threat in that! And I'm sure that your readers will, too! At a time when magical families are being attacked every week, the Ministry is deliberately trying to teach students less than is necessary for their survival!_

 _I'm sure you will know what to do with this information._

 _Harry Potter_

-o-

 **Tuesday, January 2, 1996**

That evening, Umbridge left Hogwarts Castle again. Harry very carefully refrained from being in view as she stormed out the front doors, trunks trailing behind her in an air-borne train. The article in the morning Prophet was incendiary, provocative, and pointed. _Oh, so very pointed_. Skeeter had referenced the continual rotation of DADA professors, Snape's well documented contempt for non-Slytherins, Hagrid's embrace of dangerous creatures, and Binns' inability to fully cover his subject, and then thrown the Ministry's meddling into the mix.

Parents throughout the Wizarding world were out for blood. Saint Mungo's Hospital gave their opinion of the issue _as an institution_ , and their unified denunciation rocked the political landscape, as they had never before taken a cohesive stand on _anything_. The DMLE were also given a chance to express their opinion, and Fudge's attempted takeover was reviled, from individuals on the record as well as the law enforcement arm of the Ministry. Fudge was … toast. He was disavowing all knowledge of Umbridge's efforts, and blamed the Wizengamot for mandating the position of High Inquisitor. Skeeter, in the last paragraph of her report, quoted the public minutes of the Wizengamot meeting, and proved that it was Fudge and Umbridge that had requested the position. He might not be ousted, but only if he resigned first.

 _All in all, not a bad outcome_ , thought Harry. Well, he _was_ only fifteen.

-o-

 **Wednesday, January 3, 1996**

The day was … chaos. The Ministry sent Umbridge back that morning, along with an extended front-page spread in the _Prophet_ assuring all parents and employers that Hogwarts students will all be educated to the "limits of their abilities and within the confines of the law." Fortunately, Harry was able to eat at the Magic House table, and nobody seemed to want to tell that ghastly toad lady where her primary target would be during meal times. _Well, I_ think _I'm her primary target. She certainly_ seemed _to be seeking me out._

That afternoon, the Hogwarts Express had brought the vast majority of students back to school after an extended period of zero supervision and an over-the-top candy glut. While a lot of students were fairly well behaved, there were enough that were wild from the lack of adult supervision, and others from a sugar high that would have given Willy Wonka a migraine.

Harry sighed, and mentally shook his head. _This is madness_.

The leader of Magic House finished his dinner quickly, mentally apologizing to … whomever … for the short shrift he was giving the food. He slipped out of the "eatery" into the Great Hall proper, walking confidently (he hoped) up to the front of the room.

He and Neville had a minor debate about where the best place to stand would be; being in the front would give the watching students a view of the staff in the background, and would subtly associate Harry with authority. Neville and Harry just disagreed on if those two points were good or bad. Eventually, they decided that having eyes on Dumbledore was more important.

Harry turned to face the students and pointed his wand at his throat. " _Sonorous_. While the vast majority of you were at home, enjoying your reprieve from school, I remained here over the break. Many of you may know that Magic House has some pretty strict requirements for meeting with any of its students. While you were home, Prof. Dumbledore asked to meet with me about, he said, my academic performance."

Harry raised his voice slightly. "I did not trust Dumbledore, and demanded that he take an oath on his magic that we would discuss that subject and only that subject." Various gasps were heard, faintly, from a few students – mostly 7th years. Harry nodded at a few of them. "For those of you less quick to understand, I had just demanded that Prof. Dumbledore make himself a squib at my whim. Quite properly, he refused." There was a small sound of movement behind Harry and he took a leisurely pace to the left.

Harry grinned suddenly. "That makes that second time this year that my abject ignorance has affected the staff. I try to keep my episodes of massive stupidity to private audiences, but I guess when you're this good at it, it's hard to keep it under wraps." There was a wave of laughter, some sympathetic. Most was not.

"But now I've got a problem; how do I stay safe while meeting with a Wizard I distrust? I'm pretty sure that Ravenclaws can find a solution in various ancient sources, and Slytherin House probably has a procedure all worked out and thoroughly time tested. But if it exists, I don't have it. If anyone has a good idea, please let me know. Thank you. _Finite_."

After Harry had disappeared back into the "eatery," Neville gave him a crooked smile – apparently his little speech had gone well. Luna waved her spoon at him, as she was well into a bowl of actual pudding – pistachio or mint, probably, seeing as it was green. Hermione gave him a small nod as well. It was an intractable problem, and she wasn't accustomed to thinking in terms of security – asking for help was a reasonable approach.

-o-

Harry and Luna sat together last that night. Harry was looking out at the night landscape from seven stories up, with Luna cuddled under his arm and her face buried in Harry's shoulder. He knew that she had something on her mind, and he was determined to wait until she could share it with him. The fireplace that the Marauders had installed was dying down, and there was no other light in the Lair; just the low fireplace, the dim stars, and the three-quarters waning moon.

Finally, Luna murmured, "Harry, am I pretty?"

Harry nearly did a double take, but he didn't want to alarm the girl. Instead, a chuckle burst out of him. "Luna, you are very pretty."

Quietly, almost inaudibly, "Then why haven't you wanted to …"

"Ah." He began to understand the problem. His new-found senses guided his words. "Luna, you have part of your life that I just don't get."

"What?"

"You see things I don't understand, and when you start talking about the things that interest you the most, I am … lost. Completely befuddled. Now, this does not mean that I don't like you – I do. A lot. You …" Harry hesitated. "You saved me more than I ever saved you. You showed me – and continue to show me – what life can be like with friendship and acceptance. I treasure that more than you know." Harry shook his head. "I mean, I think that it's more than you know – but you surprise me all the time, and you could easily know everything I feel, and I'd never really know it." He could feel Luna chuckle a bit as he babbled, but the sound didn't reach his ears.

He pulled himself back to the point. "But I do love you, Luna. And for me, love means protecting. I'm pretty sure that in the future, you will find someone that can talk about all those hidden things with you, someone that can participate in _all_ of your life with you." He gulped. "And when you do, and you fall in love, you will want to have part of your life that only he has entered. You – and he – won't want comparisons with me coming up in the back of your mind. This is only for you, and your husband."

Harry sighed. "I'm trying to protect your future. So I defend you from me as well as all those stupid 'Claws that can't understand what a treasure you are."

"But you want to 'cause I'm pretty, right?"

"'Cause you're pretty."

She squeezed him a little tighter then let go. A soft kiss on his check, and she was gone to her room, presumably, and Harry was left alone, looking over the land. A thought went through his mind, and he laughed loudly. _Only God's help could have gotten me though_ that _minefield_. Another thought, wafting through his head, _You should thank Him_.

Harry gave a simple prayer, thanking his new Patron for His guidance, and went to bed. That little

Presence in his mind was approving, and Harry fell asleep contented, making a mental note to continue prayers daily.


	20. Fixing Misunderstandings

**Chapter 20: Fixing Misunderstandings**

 **Thursday, January 4, 1996**

The morning exercise was, Harry felt, an unfortunate concession they were forced to make so that they could get staff supervision. He was _very_ put out when Prof. Burbage continued to focus on him and his cultural education; Hermione had been drawn into the lectures, but she rarely was asked to contribute.

As a result, Harry was forced to split his attention between the obstacle course and the material, and it was a few days before he was able to end the morning without a fresh bruise.

-o-

 **Friday, January 5, 1996**

"Harry, you have to stop taking advantage of Luna," Hermione hissed. They were taking the afternoon to do homework in the Lair, soaking up the sun (to what degree they could) and enjoying the greenhouse atmosphere.

Harry was completely baffled at Hermione's demand, and said as much. "Er – what?"

"Luna is the most trusting person either of us has ever met. You can't be just using her!"

Harry glanced around. Neville was not present, so he could express himself openly. "Again – what are you talking about?"

Hermione's face reddened a bit, "I overheard you two talking Wednesday night."

"And just to make everything explicit, tell me what you believe I am doing."

Hermione's blush deepened. "You are convincing Luna to be … physically involved with you."

Harry blinked. Several times. _No, that_ **is** _what she said_. _How did she decide_ **that** _is what was going on?_ He took the chance to ask some questions of his own. "I thought that was how it is done? We talk, persuade each other about what we want to do, and if there is no agreement, we aren't involved. Right?"

Hermione seemed to welcome the … more theoretical discussion. "Well, yes, I suppose …" She snapped back to her original point of view. "But you can't take advantage of Luna! _There are rules!_ "

Hmm. That might explain some things. "So – just because I'm persuading her, therefore, I'm not following what Luna wants, so I'm the one that's out of bounds?" he gently asked.

"You should always follow the lady's lead. Don't be pushing Luna to do things she's not ready for!" Hermione was pretty adamant about that, but Harry couldn't resist poking holes in her assumptions.

"And there is no situation where Luna will be pushing to do the wrong thing?"

Hermione struggled with that one. She knew she couldn't dismiss the possibility – that was absurd – but as a practical matter, she had to insist that Harry, well, obey Luna. Harry let her struggle for a few moments, then took pity on her.

"Hermione, Luna seems to have had a particular conversation with her father over the break. I suspect that one of the conversations was him warning her about the intentions of young men and how she shouldn't give in to their pressures. _And_ ," he held up a hand for her to not jump in, "I suspect that she was told that 'Young men will often be attracted to young women and try to … do something." The exact nature of the 'something' wasn't what Harry wanted to focus on, and apparently, Hermione wanted to leave that alone, too.

Harry continued, "I suspect that, because Luna asked for reassurance that night. She wanted to know if she was pretty. And she felt that she wasn't because I hadn't been acting in the ways her father warned her about." Hermione acted like she had been concussed. Just mildly. "I don't pressure her for kisses, hugs remain innocent … I am not pressuring her in any way to do anything that she shouldn't. I let her know just how I felt about her, and that I will protect her from every threat that I can think of." Harry gave a wry smile. "Which includes myself."

It was Hermione's turn to blink rapidly.

Harry sat back and changed the subject. "You seems to put a lot of emphasis on rules." He continued much more slowly, "I think that I owe you a deep apology."

Hermione kept on being mute, and looked a bit quizzical.

"The rules for Hogwarts frequently conflicted with the rules for friendship when we were in Gryffindor House, right? And Ron and I were always pulling you off to do something only quasi-legal. That must have been terribly hard on you." Harry paused for emphasis. "I'm very sorry for that. I never suspected that being my friend was so difficult."

"Oh, it wasn't so bad," Hermione replied. There was a faint wistful tone in her voice. "I was able to figure out a rules hierarchy telling me which ones took precedence at any time, except for …" She shook her head to clear her mind. "Never mind. Just … it really wasn't that bad."

"So, when do your rules tell you that you _can_ get … physically involved?" Harry tried teasing her into a new subject.

Hermione's face grew stony. "When you're in love and it is a permanent relationship." Her tone wasn't frosty, just … cold.

 _So why isn't this fun to talk about? Oooh. Right_.

Quietly, "We know that Ron isn't a great potions student. Do you believe that he caused the potions to be given to you, or was it someone else?"

"I know that Ron couldn't have _made_ the potions. I also don't think that he's that good at hiding what he's thinking or feeling, so … it was probably someone else that started everything, and he just took advantage of … the situation." He voice trembled a bit at the end.

Harry's lips firmed. "Right. Winky!"

She popped in at the end of their work table. "Great Master Harry Potter Sir needs something?"

Harry blandly said, "I don't know about him, but I do. Please bring me my letter-writing kit."

Winky wrung her hands for a moment, then said, "Winkys will be gettings Dobbys to gets it," and popped out.

"Huh?"

Hermione regained a smile – a bit of one, anyway. A smirk. "She doesn't want to set off Flitwick's Foghorn."

Harry joined her. "Ahh. Too bad. I believe that he had a new desk installed over the break. Perhaps we could see about breaking that one in, too."

Harry's lapdesk popped onto the table, and he removed a parchment, quill, and ink pot.

 _Messrs. Weasley and Weasley, Weasley Wizarding Wheeses_

 _I have come to the conclusion that your younger brother, Ronald, merely took_ advantage _of the love potions that Hermione Granger was given. The immediate suspects for who_ created _the brews comes down to five; those that had access to the Weasley household, had opportunity, and had motive as well; Ron, for obvious reasons, is out as a suspect for this._

 _It is possible that your sister was the culprit. The potion was not the most complex, and dosing was irregular. Her planning would have had to be complex and indirect – I count her as a remote possibility._

 _It is also possible that your mother caused it. She has the skill, means, opportunity, and – apparently – motive. Given her desire to direct her children's lives, I believe she is the most probable suspect._

 _Given his desire to meddle and his philosophy that everyone's lives are his to direct, I also believe that Albus Dumbledore could be involved; I have evidence that he was most likely aware of the love potions. My attempts to wrest control of my life and protect my friends from his machinations is ongoing._

 _It is also somewhat possible that you two were involved. The wares carried in your shop point to your potions ability, and your moral flexibility as well._

 _I am not pleased with this …_ _ **attack**_ _… on one of my closest friends._

 _Should either of you be involved with this, I will need to retrieve my investment. Should the culprit be a member of your family, you will need to choose sides – them, us, or neutral, and each allegiance has its own consequences. Should I be completely mistaken, I hope that you understand this response and realize that it comes solely from concern for those that are innocent._

 _And while you two may not be guilty, no one could_ ever _call you innocent._

 _Harry James Potter_

With a smirk, Harry spun the parchment over to Hermione, who had visibly been refraining from trying to read Harry's writing upside down.

She read it quickly and raised her eyebrows. "Really?"

Harry nodded. She picked up the letter and read it again while Harry raised his arm to receive Hedwig. The letter went off, and Hermione tentatively asked, "Are we really friends again?"

Harry sat back and looked at her, with her head bowed, hair concealing her face. "Truthfully, I'm not sure. I'll still defend you, and I want what's best for you, but I don't try to get involved in your life, and I am not sure I want you involved with mine." Hermione's posture shrank, and she refused to look up. "I suspect that it will be a long while before I trust you with everything that's going on in my life, simply because I don't see where you understand that my life is mine to direct." He smiled softly. "In your terms, my rules for friendship are different than your rules. And if we can't agree … then we shouldn't be trying to be friends."

Hermione kept her head bowed. Finally, she sighed. "I understand," and began gathering her books.

Harry was puzzled. "Where are you going? And … why?"

"Well …, since we're not friends anymore …"

"That doesn't mean that I don't want you around. You're a pretty nice person, all things considered. I don't object to your company at all. I just don't want you directing my life. Sit, please."

Hermione sat, but obviously wasn't completely sure about the invitation. Harry sighed. "Is this one of those rules you have? No fraternizing unless you're complete friends?"

Hermione was a tad embarrassed. "I don't really understand social interactions. So I ty to figure out the rules, and then follow those, because I don't quite get why everyone else is acting … the way they do. But your rules for being friends doesn't really make sense to me, so I don't know what to do." Again, she ducked her head, so that hair fell across her face to hide her from the world.

Harry shook his head ruefully. "I don't have hard and fast rules to tell you, Hermione. But … think about respect. And confidence. If you had respect for me, you'd let me make the decisions I want to make, and wouldn't try to force me into decisions that you have pre-approved for me. The same with confidence. Every time you nag me to do homework, you are showing that you don't believe that I have the determination to do it on my own. You're treating me a bit like a child – someone you have no confidence in. And friendship is between equals, so treating me like that undermines friendship."

Hermione tilted her head. "So … how does Luna treat you?"

Harry shook his head. "I don't think it's quite healthy, actually. She seems desperate for approval and she will support me in anything I ask from her, it looks like."

"Like what?"

"Well …," Harry hesitated. Steeling himself, he took the plunge. "I have had a project in motion for a few months. Luna helped me research it, and figure out what I needed to do to make it all work. Even though I was the only friend she had and I fully expected that the end result of this project would be that I died."

Eyes wider than Harry had ever seen her, Hermione was shocked to her core. "You … but … you can't do that!" she sputtered.

Harry raised his eyebrows.

She immediately retreated. "I mean … _why_?" Hermione was completely bewildered.

"Because I wanted to be with my family again," the soft words floated between them.

Tentatively, "Are you still working for that?"

"No," Harry said firmly. "I now know that what I wanted isn't something I can get in the _way_ that I wanted it. I've … made other plans."

Hermione's lip was firmly between her teeth as she worried. "Good," she whispered. She looked at him like he was a stranger. "Even … even in the worst times, I never tried that … how could you … I just don't understand!"

"I'm not asking you to. You don't have to. It not something you need to deal with."

Hermione calmed. "You're not trying to die anymore?" She searched his face intently.

He smiled a bit. "I wasn't trying to die then, either, I just wanted to be with my parents enough that I was willing to have my life end if I could be with them again. But I can't have my family back, so dying would be a waste. I have things to do, and dying would make it much harder to reach my goals."

Hermione wasn't all that reassured … she needed more of a guarantee. "Like what?"

"Justice." Harry's voice was firm. "There are way too many people getting away with way too much in the Wizarding world. I want justice for everything they've done to me."

Hermione regarded him skeptically. "Are you really the one to enforce justice, Harry?"

He shrugged. "No one else is doing it. Someone should. The world would be better if they did. And until they show up … it looks like I'm the only one willing to do it."

-o-

 **Saturday, January 6, 1996**

There was an owl letter waiting for Harry after the Magic House morning run. After attending to his bruises, anyway.

 _Mister Potter, The-Boy-Who-Has-More-Than-A-Little-Leverage,_

 _On our magic, we are not involved. We have to admit that you – and Miss Granger – have the moral, ethical, financial, legal, and possibly magical high ground, but we would still prefer to stay neutral in this conflict._

 _The evidence certainly points to a Weasley. We suspect Mrs. Weasley over Ginevra, but the possibility of them being in partnership cannot be dismissed. We have no evidence either way, and prefer not to gather any. If, however, you are able to determine the perpetrator, we will make public our disgust with the potions use._

 _Please destroy this letter, as neutrality would be hard to pull off with evidence to the contrary._

 _Messrs. Weasley_

 _P.S. Close the map for security._

Harry handed the letter over the Hermione as soon as she had appeared for breakfast.

She nodded to him when she gave it back. Harry touched his wand to the parchment and said, "Mischief managed," and the letter incinerated itself, like the postscript indicated. Harry noted that they would have to show public acceptance to the Weasley twins when he encountered them in the halls (which was infrequently, given the Doors he could open.)

As Harry returned to eating, he wondered, _What is justice for this? A good impulse, perverted to enable one of the greatest evils – what could make it right?_

-o-

In the Lair after dinner that evening:

"Luna, I've puzzled out a different story than the one you told me. Can I share with you what I believe to be the truth?"

Luna was immediately focused, bouncing up and down in her eagerness. "Story time!" she sang, and then threw herself onto the couch opposite Harry's armchair. Neville shook the dirt from his hands, and settled in at his workbench, surrounded by pots of groundcover and a few non-blooming flowers. Some small fairies that had taken up residence in the small shrubberies peeked out and some settled on Neville's shoulders. Hermione smiled a bit at Luna's enthusiasm, and placed a slip of paper in her book to mark her place and set it on the table beside her.

Harry launched into the history he had worked out (or perhaps, been given), speaking primarily to Luna:

 _The muggle world believes that the universe was created from something unknowable, which exploded into being about 14 billion years ago. They are incorrect. To magical eyes, we can see that the universe has spun on its way for at least 100 billion years, and shows signs of having always existed. The creations of God have been born in fire, from ice, through void, or from firmament, and always trailing glory, fulfilling the measure of their creation and then passing away through uncounted eons. And though they are uncountable to man, God knows them all, for they are His._

 _But not all creations have followed their Master's instructions, and many, many, many years ago, worlds were turned from purity and holiness by the choice of their inhabitants. They did not grow into their birthright, but instead shunned the gifts that their Creator had in store for them, and they grew in both knowledge and power. And, sadly, they grew in wickedness, and they spread from world to world, corrupting the creations of God as they spread among the stars._

 _Their Creator can remove them, but acting within the universe means that consequences must follow actions, and the evil that the Corrupted have embraced will trigger the destruction of far too many creations if they are removed. To protect the entire universe, the Master of All chose to take an enormous chance – to create equals, possible partners in cultivating the universe and in cleansing that which should not be. So on this Earth, the Lord God caused that His Children should be born and tested, to prove that they may be worthy to receive dominion over all that He has and Power over all that may be._

 _The fulcrum of this world of Godlets calls out across the unfathomable void, a bright spot in the vision of all those who have a stake in the future that could be forged here – the hopeful focus of all that is holy and the malevolent focus of all that is cursed._

Luna smiled at Harry, hearing the wording that she had used repeated back to her, and she received a smile in return.

 _The Created servants of God have been tasked with protecting this world from the Outside Evil. The Corrupted - servants of sin - have come to seduce or destroy those who strive to join their Father. And as the Created and the Corrupted have mingled with the Children, they have brought additional powers and vision to the Children that have blended heritage, for nothing can break or weaken the Inheritance that God has given his offspring. There are no more outside agents upon the earth, as they have all been joined into the family of God, and_ all _of them receive the same care and joy from their Father._

Harry gave Luna a significant look, and Luna's smile grew brighter, and a tear trickled down her cheek, hearing the acceptance of those with … a mixed birthright.

 _Some few of the Children have been given a separate gift, some by design and some by chance, through which they may prove themselves to their Father in this life. At times, they have proven faithful, and are given greater knowledge and greater power for their service. But largely, the gift of magic has led the Children of God to turn away from their Father, imagining to themselves that there is none to judge them, that there is none to challenge their power over their fellow men. They imagine themselves beyond the judgement of God, and they proclaim themselves to be a third power, an alternative to the choice between God and His enemies. And as they pass beyond this life, they universally discover that there is only God and those He claims, against his enemies … and the servants that they betray._

The four were silent as Harry finished, each thinking about their power and their place in the universe. Finally, Neville spoke. "That's … very different than what I learned as a kid."

"What was that?" Hermione was, as ever, very curious about anything that crossed her path.

"Mankind was created by God, and the first Wizards were men that had stolen a part of God's power, somehow." Neville scratched his head. "It was never clear how that happened, now that I think about it." He seemed somewhat embarrassed by that.

"Harry, how did you find this out?" Hermione; always asking questions.

"Well …" This was going to take some explaining. "On Christmas morning, I performed a ritual so that I could make a request of Heaven. It wasn't coercive, or anything," he hastily added. "Kind of a magically powered prayer. No sacrifices, no blood. Very tame," he smiled at Hermione. "A messenger was sent to meet with me, and I was given some advice and a blessing – there's a way to use magic that's the opposite of curses, I've done it for someone else and it's kind of cool. Anyway, after the meeting, I found that I have a … kind of connection with Heaven now."

It was Luna that spoke up this time. Her eyes were narrow – Harry wasn't sure if she was intrigued or disapproving. "What kind of connection? Does it guide you into what you should be doing?"

Harry shook his head, "Nothing like that. It's more like a touchstone; when I think of things or do things, I get a return impression of … approval or disapproval. Sometimes I can take stories and correct them, because the connection helps me see how the story should go. That's how I fixed the story that Luna gave me last term."

Luna's expression returned to normal. "That's good. I'm glad you're still you."

Harry shook his head slightly – he was still finding Luna extremely confusing most of the time. Neville followed suit, and Hermione just flat out ignored her.

Neville asked, "So what are we supposed to do?"

Harry spread his arms wide, "What ever you want."

Hermione frowned, "That can't be right! Every religion teaches that there are things we should not do, so how do you get that we should do what ever we want?"

Harry was sitting back and smiled, "Because that's God's plan; we reveal who we are and what we can be trusted with by what we choose to do. Those that can be trusted with God's power will be given, well, God's power; those that show they want something else, say … world domination, will get something… well, I don't know what, but it won't be authority and power. Yes, there are things we probably shouldn't do, but the important part is that we do what we truly want. We go after what will make us happy."

Luna clapped her hands. "So I _can_ find a Crumple-Horned Snorkack!"

"No idea, Luna, but you should definitely keep trying. But there's something else we have to take care of right now." The other three looked expectantly at Harry. "The Goblins are going to be very nervous – and thus, hostile – about the Door spell. We need to figure out what we're willing to give them so they won't feel threatened. Any ideas?"

The Magic-ians put their heads together and began to make some plans. Internally, Harry shook his head. _Magic-ians. What was I thinking? That's just … pathetic._


	21. Self-Inflicted Wounds

**Chapter 21: Self-inflicted Wounds**

 **Monday, January 8, 1996**

It was a busy day – a full half of Harry's classes met on Mondays – but he still made time to review Hermione's letter to Gringott's over lunch. Neville and Luna had been most helpful in discussing how to appeal to the goblin culture, but Harry's inner compass helped a bit as well. Hermione contributed her customary thoroughness and competency. _And handwriting; can't forget that_.

He read the letter, seeking an agreement to protect their human security while also protecting the goblin security, and asked, "Can you change the salutation without having to copy the entire thing over again?"

Hermione nodded and took the parchment back. "What should it say?" She had stopped questioning Harry's little addendums. The insights he contributed made their proposed contract much stronger, and – oddly, for Hermione – she didn't scoff at his sheepish explanation that the phrases 'just came to him.' Harry suspected that he had confirmed a piece of secret lore that she had ferreted out, which made her accept that he was being fed information that was helpful.

"To the Convocation of the Brethren of the Earth."

She looked at Harry, puzzled.

"It's how they think of all goblins, together. If we can offer this to every goblin bank, every tribe, every clan, then they know we're serious and are thinking about their welfare, not just our own. If we sent this offer to Gringott's, the British clans would have an advantage over the rest of them, but they would believe that we're only doing this to prevent personal retribution."

"Ah," said Hermione as she inked her pen, "it puts us in a stronger moral bargaining position."

Harry nodded. After lunch, he and Hermione went back to the Lair, where Hedwig was waiting for them, as both Harry and Hermione half expected.

Harry settled into a chair so he could look Hedwig in the eyes. "Hedwig, I know that you are the fastest and most intelligent post owl in the land. You are the best of the best." He fixed her with a strong stare. "But for this letter, you must keep everything you have to be proud of, and still be humble. Can you do that?"

An emotionally evasive post owl was a wonder to behold. Hermione barely managed to contain her giggles.

"This letter," he held it up, transferring Hedwig's gaze to it, "is not just for me, and not just for my friends. We hope to stop a war before it even starts, and protect the wealth of all our people. We need the best owl to ever connect two friends, but more – we need one that can be the best without offending others." Harry reached out and scratched the left side of her neck, and she leaned into it. "We need you. Everything you've ever done for me, and then some. Can you do it?"

He was answered by Hedwig standing up straight – almost at martial attention – and giving a crisp bark. Harry gave her the letter, and she winged away through the Lair owl entrance.

Hermione sighed, watching the white owl depart. "You have the strangest owl, Harry."

"I have the best," he corrected her, looking out in the same direction. "I seem to surround myself with the best."

He didn't see Hermione bite her lip and look at him out of the corner of his eye.

-o-

 **Wednesday, January 10, 1996**

Umbridge – that is, Professor Umbridge – had taken over the DADA class, and kept it on its stultifying, peaceful way. At the beginning of term, she had announced, and been supported by an article in the Prophet, that she was now the High Inquisitor of Hogwarts, announced in Educational Decree #23. She immediately began asserting authority over the staff, insisting on restrictions concerning magic being taught. Last weekend, her confrontation with Flitwick became legendary; he insisted that he had a contract with Hogwarts, represented at the time by the Headmaster, and that regardless of her Ministry-appointed position, she could not break a contract that was already in force. This resulted in two Educational Decrees being posted, numbers 24 and 25, which essentially stripped professors of their authority over student activities and punishments.

Tonight's target was Trelawney. Umbridge seemed to enjoy public displays of her authority, regardless of how small-minded it revealed her to be. Harry wasn't all that thrilled with his Divination class – nor its professor – but he felt that this was the time to intervene. Propelled by the promptings in his mind, he approached the staff table while the screaming professors threw all their dignity out the window.

"… and if a half-drunken sot can give a real prophecy, I'll kiss Fudge!"

Harry chose that moment to interject, "It is fortunate that you did not give a magically binding promise on that." Both women turned to face him, looking down from their elevated dais. Umbridge had reddened at Harry's interruption. "I believe that I can coax Professor Trelawney to provide the proof you need."

Harry carefully placed his wand on the railing of the podium. He faced Trelawney and ordered, "Under the authority that I have been given, I request that any messages to me from higher powers be given at this time."

Umbridge immediately screeched, "What auth…"

Harry cut her off, pointing his finger at her and ordered, "Hush, I need to hear this." Umbridge immediately closed her mouth, eyes bulging and jaw straining.

Trelawney had stood, and began to glow, a shaft of light descending from the ceiling to illuminate her – just her – above the rest of the Great Hall. Her face twisted, muscles rearranging themselves under her skin, and she spoke in a voice that while unnatural to her, was smooth and powerful, neither male nor female. She opened her mouth and began to float slightly above the floor, saying,

" **The servant of light has chosen his path and allegiance.**

 **His enemies combine yet shall not support each other.**

 **The heart, the mind, and the tower of strength support him.**

 **The prophecy of infancy can only be resolved by the choices of the servant!**

 **The future's seeds are planted in minds and hearts by the Great Deceiver.**

 **Care well for the innocent and deny not justice to the injured,**

 **For your actions are the foundation of your future,**

 **And your judgement is in the hands of the servant."**

With that, the light vanished, Trelawney floated down to touch the floor where she collapsed, and the Hall erupted in babbling murmurs. Harry gestured at Umbridge, releasing her from her imposed silence. Umbridge was determined to be heard above them all. "POTTER!"

He glanced at her dismissingly. "You have heard Professor Trelawney give a true prophecy. She is, therefore, the most capable practitioner of divination this school has and cannot be dismissed on the grounds of competence."

Umbridge was furious, face red and snarling. "What authority do you have, boy," dismissing him.

Harry listened to the impulses in his head and let the anger drain away. "From what you've just seen, my authority, like yours, has nothing to do with magic." Harry picked up his wand. "And while yours comes from, and is limited to, government … mine is not." He turned and walked back to the Magic House table, muttering the prophecy under his breath for memorization purposes.

-o-

 **Thursday, January 11, 1996**

The prophecy that Trelawney had uttered was foremost in Harry's mind that morning – he puzzled on it during the morning run, and the pink-clad Prof. Burbage didn't try to pull him into the discussion on muggle entertainment options. After almost two weeks back from break (and daily doses of a fortifying potion regime), the students had enough stamina for several circuits of both floors and one full speed top-to-bottom-and-back run of the Astronomy Tower. It gave Harry plenty of time for musing. _If only I could come up with something insightful_.

During breakfast, it became apparent that the other Magic House students also spent time musing over the prophecy; Hermione spoke up with, "I think that the new prophecy is basically a warning, Harry."

He shook himself out of his slight food daze (a large cup of hot chocolate, a small slice of warm ham, and spicy baked eggs) to respond, "I kind of got that, but it doesn't make that much sense to me."

Luna hastily cleared her throat and piped up, "I thought it was fairly straightforward, Harry. What confuses you?"

"I asked for message for _me_ from higher powers. It seems like this message was primarily for meddling adults and headmasters."

Neville said, "That's true. If you translate the descriptions into people, you get the message that Harry has to make the decisions in order for an earlier prophecy to resolve itself, and to beware the efforts of the Great Deceiver, which has got to be Dumbledore."

"And if … Dumbledore isn't being warned against meddling … then Harry is being warned against the Headmaster. Why?" Hermione methodically took the next step.

Prof. Burbage broke in – almost literally. She had disappeared from the staff table unnoticed, and had created a Door to appear behind the students. "The Headmaster insists on meeting with Mr. Potter today after lunch. So perhaps this is a timely warning rather than a general one." Her expression reflected her worry over her students and distrust in her boss.

Harry sighed. "Or both. When does the," he swallowed his 'whiskered wanker' description, "headmaster want to meet, and where?"

Prof. Burbage jabbed her thumb over her shoulder. "The regular place," indicating the room right outside the Great Hall that they had used before. "And right after lunch."

Harry sighed again. "Got it." He looked at his housemates. "Anyone want to volunteer as my backup?"

Luna emptied her fork into her mouth and then waved it at him, slowly chewing.

"Ok. Just put the fork down before we go. I don't want anyone getting hurt."

She swallowed hastily. "My pudding shouldn't be a subject under discussion, so that won't really be a problem, will it?" she said sweetly. Harry rolled his eyes.

-o-

Harry, Luna, and Prof. Burbage were waiting in the room for a bit before Dumbledore arrived, so they decided to arrange the seating for best effect. Harry sat at a table with one chair across from him, in the center of the room. There was an empty seat behind the table with its back against the wall, Luna sat in a corner behind Harry and to his right, and Prof. Burbage sat in the corner behind the table where she could see everyone.

"There," said Prof. Burbage as she stowed her wand and stretched her fingers. "Now Albus will have his ally to watch his back, a monitor _at_ his back, and Luna will be out of the line of fire should anything happen." Harry nodded, and Luna skipped over to her overstuffed chair and burrowed in. He smothered a little laugh at her antics and took his chair at the table, while Prof. Burbage sat in her chair (with her wand out, Harry noticed.)

They sat for minutes, silence stretching out before them, and Harry tilted his head back with his eyes closed. Finally, Prof. Burbage said, "This delaying tactic is intended to make you annoyed, and thus less careful, when they do come in. Be aware of your own emotions, and don't let them dictate what you say or do."

 _Good advice. Hope I can do that_. Harry's internal monitor suggested that he ask Heaven for assistance – which he promptly did, in the privacy of his own head. As he finished his plea, the Headmaster and Prof. Flitwick walked in the door.

The Headmaster immediately began, "Harry, my boy …" and trailed off at Harry's expression.

He began again, "Mr. Potter, what we have to discuss is highly sensitive and must remain secret." With the most serious expression Harry had ever seen him adopt, Dumbledore went on, "I must ask Prof. Burbage and Miss Lovegood to leave us for a private conversation."

Harry snorted. "Ask all you like. If they leave, I will leave." In response to Dumbledore's frown, Harry said, "There may be long-term reasons for security like you ask. That doesn't mean that I should ignore the immediate threat that _you_ present. Feel free to have whatever discussion you like with me, but I will not meet with you in private, and I will not give you control over my life."

Dumbledore's frown didn't lessen a bit. Flitwick interjected, "You need to show the appropriate respect for your Headmaster, Mr. Potter. Five points from Magic House for cheek."

"If this was a discussion within his responsibilities as my Headmaster, he might be deserving of more. As it is, the topic that Dumbledore wanted to cover this afternoon is the prophecy that was given at the evening meal yesterday. Given that he insists on a private discussion of a prophecy that everyone has already heard, his aim is most likely to steer me into an interpretation of that prophecy favorable to him and his long-term goals."

Prof. Flitwick sat back in his chair, obviously a little unprepared for Harry's broadside. Luna took this opportunity to say, "And since the prophecy tells us that Harry must be the one to choose, your interpretation can only be guidance, not definitive."

Dumbledore, now sitting across from Harry, responded with, "But my guidance may be the key to successfully resolving this message from Fate."

Harry looked at him thoughtfully. "Ok, then; what is your interpretation?"

Dumbledore was caught a little back-footed at this blunt query. He obviously wanted a little time to lead up to his thoughts. He gamely began, "The servant of light is someone we must seek out, and I suspect that the great deceiver is currently associated with … Tom Riddle."

Harry refrained from snorting. _Yeah, right_. "Please explain this 'prophecy of infancy' to me?"

Dumbledore looked from side to side. "That is most secret, Harry. There have been many deaths and much suffering because of that prophecy, and I cannot allow others to know what it tells us."

Harry said dryly, "If we won't know the contents of that prophecy, it's not telling us anything." In a more conversational tone, he went on, "That prophecy was given last night because of my request of a true seer. In that context, I am the servant of light, and that conclusion is reinforced by the events of Christmas last." Dumbledore's expression sharpened quite a bit, but Harry ignored his alertness. "Even absent that interpretation, the prophecy of infancy mentioned will be resolved one way or another, regardless of who is informed of that previous prophecy. So you have a choice to make, Mr. Dumbledore; do you want to me resolve that prophecy blindly, or with an understanding of what outcome I am trying for?"

Dumbledore asked, "What happened at Christmas, Harry? I mean, Mr. Potter?"

"Let's get some background here; when was that last time you prayed, Mr. Dumbledore?"

"I don't see how this is relevant, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said.

"Work with me, here. When did you last pray? Do you ever receive answers to those prayers?"

Slowly, "I do not need to cast my wishes into the void, Mr. Potter. And answered prayers are a figment of imagination, a delusion we give ourselves for comfort."

Harry snorted. "I have personally experienced proof that both of those statements are wrong, sir. And given that you do not seek guidance from the ultimate _source_ of light, you cannot be considered the – or even _a_ – servant of light. Since I have been given that position, I should probably know that prophecy that you are hoarding to yourself."

Dumbledore smiled – condescendingly and patronizingly – at Harry. "I have the assurance of a phoenix companion, Harry. I am as much of the Light as a person _can_ be."

Luna and Harry both snorted. Luna from her perch in the far corner of the room called out, "And just where did that connection come from? The fact that you have a constant companion of a phoenix should actually be a warning, not an endorsement."

At Flitwick's puzzled expression, Luna went on, "A phoenix is a creature of fire and air; a volatile mix of the two most unstable and variable elements in nature. For the phoenix to be constantly around the Headmaster indicates some powerful spells perverting the nature of the animal: thus, a warning that mind-controlling magics are being used, possibly indiscriminately."

Dumbledore waved his hand to dismiss Luna's argument, but didn't address it, Harry noticed. The arguments went back and forth, the Headmaster refusing to accept that Harry could supplant him as a leader, and Harry just as stubbornly pointing out that under his current actions, Dumbledore was probably the Great Deceiver that he had been warned about.

Finally, they came to an agreement; Dumbledore would write the prophecy down, and send it via Fawkes to Harry at 8:45 that night. Harry would have one minute to read it before the parchment would burst into flame, and Harry would not copy the prophecy or write it down from memory, so that it would remain secure.

"I can only offer this because your mind is unusually closed to me, Mr. Potter." Throughout the discussion, the Headmaster has gradually become accustomed to addressing Harry properly. "This is a marked change from last year. Are the events of Christmas last related to you sudden knowledge of Occlumency?"

"I have no idea. I don't even know what that is."

"Hmm. I see." And the subject was dropped.

Harry decided to ask one more question. "Did you give Miss Granger a loyalty potion?"

The Headmaster looked a bit resigned and unsettled under his mask of benign helpfulness. "Not purposefully, but yes," he admitted.

"Please explain." Harry's voice was flat.

"My candy dish covers the contents with a mild loyalty potion as an aide to conversation in my office. The potion is completely medically safe, and could never control her." After a pause, he added, "Please do not publicize this, as it is very helpful in getting to the bottom of various issues at Hogwarts."

Harry thought for a moment, then grinned. "Is the reason that Miss Granger is safe, that the given dose is so small?"

Dumbledore nodded.

Harry's grin got bigger. "Hermione will be glad to hear that. You'll need to report immediately to Poppy, though. I've seen you take a lemon drop while I've visited, even when nobody else is taking one. By repeatedly taking one yourself, you've given yourself a dose big enough to alter your behavior." He chuckled softly.

"But that just induces loyalty to myself – that couldn't be an issue," Dumbledore protested. "You're just a student, and obviously just casting in the dark."

Harry leaned around Dumbledore to address Flitwick. "Having his loyalty to himself increased means that his ability to accept ideas from others is artificially decreased, as you can see. His tendency to trust others has taken a hit as well, probably. Can you insure that the Headmaster is admitted to Madame Pomfrey's care?" Flitwick nodded as he was drawing his wand.

Harry continued, "Then I think that we should excuse ourselves." He sidled over to where Luna had sat, completely silent in the corner, where Prof. Burbage joined him. He waved his left hand, and a Door moved them all to the Lair in a tangled and painful heap. It was painful to Harry, at least – he was on the bottom of the pile.

Luna reported the meeting to Neville and Hermione, where Hermione was immediately overcome by the knowledge that she hadn't been targeted by Dumbledore and broke down crying. Neville and Harry left her to the care of Luna and Prof. Burbage; standing around awkwardly didn't seem to be a helpful strategy, and that was all they knew how to do.

At 8:40, Harry was in the room he had used for his ritual. The room was empty, save for a seat that Harry had transfigured. He fancied that he could still detect a trace of the messenger's presence in the room, and he gratefully sunk into a grateful meditation, or perhaps an unformed prayer, until Fawkes arrived.

The message was delivered at what Harry presumed was the correct time, the parchment let him read it once through before bursting into flame … and Harry was left with questions.

Most prominently, _what does it matter?_ He shook his head. Maybe the detox would clear Dumbledore's mind. One could only hope.


	22. Gifts

**Chapter 22: Gifts**

 **Sunday, January 14, 1996**

The meal for Sunday lunch was, as usual, superb. Harry suspected that the House Elves were really enjoying their ability to go all out displaying their skills, as the food seemed to come in waves. At the beginning of his new menu, the food seemed French – at least, that's how Hermione identified it. (Two days of German food was about all they had time for before it switched again, probably because Harry was too young for all the beer that was the real German culinary legacy.) Then came a wave of Greek food, which faded into a long month of Mediterranean dishes. Spanish spices seemed to be introducing the next wave of tastes, and it was very welcome in the cold Scottish winter.

Harry was finishing up his bowl of squash soup when the Great Hall was disturbed by a rhythmic clanking sound, growing louder. An intrusive thought made him hastily stuff a spoonful of cauliflower and rice into his mouth before heading out the door into the Great Hall. After startled looks at each other, the rest of his Housemates followed.

They immediately turned out of the hall to meet in the castle entrance … a delegation of goblins? Hermione "Eeep!"-ed, and disappeared through her Door.

Harry looked about. "Is there something I can do for you?"

The short mass of armored warriors moved aside to reveal one of their number. "We wish to negotiate for the Contract." His voice was deep, growling with an accent that sounded sort of Eastern-European, mixed with some sounds that Harry would be very surprised to hear from a human throat.

Harry nodded. "I have expected some reply, but … I am not sure that we have room in our usual meeting room for all of us." A thought occurred to him. "Would you feel more comfortable in a room underground or a room high up in the castle?"

A rumbling went through the Goblin delegation. "Underground." The response was definite.

Harry sighed. "Very well. We have only to wait for …" Hermione walked up to the group with a small roll of parchment in her hand. "She is here, so we can depart for our conference. Neville, would you please set up a relay Door from here, and I'll take care of the destination." He raised his voice. "The meeting room will be dark and has no furniture at the moment, but we will be secure from intrusion." Neville's Door had appeared on the wall, and Harry waved his hand to provide a target Door. He waved Hermione and Luna through, followed by the Goblins, with Harry and Neville stepping though at the tail of the group.

As they stepped toward the wall, Harry saw the ghastly robes coming around the corner toward the castle entrance. _The headmaster will be missing out on this one_. He smirked a little, and disappeared through the Door.

Harry could feel Neville at his left side, and could hear the breathing of the group, but the room was pitch dark. He grasped his wand and cast, " _Lumos!_ " with all his might. The light that erupted from the end of his wand was rather more intense than he expected, but as it travelled off the end of his wand and toward the ceiling of the empty room, he was gratified at the gasps from his housemates. The goblins were immobile for a short moment, then they all drew their weapons with a shout.

"Betrayal!"

"No! No!" Harry assured them. "We are in the Chamber of Secrets, under the Hogwarts grounds. There is nothing here that will harm us!"

The goblins were in a defensive ring, axes and swords pointed in all directions. From the middle of the warriors came the guttural question, "You did not bring us here to kill us?"

Harry stowed his wand and held his hands out at his sides. "This is the only place I could think of that would make you feel comfortable and would also keep the Headmaster from trying to take over this meeting. This is for us," he indicated the humans, "to give you control over a spell that could threaten your security, and for us to make sure that you do not threaten _our_ security." He gestured over to the body of the basilisk. "And, I'll also be very happy to throw in a rather large snake corpse if you are at all interested."

There was a chittering sound coming from the mass of goblins. Their weapons were lowered now that they were feeling a bit safer, but their looks from Harry to the basilisk were repeated over and over.

Hermione was stock still, eyes wide. Luna was humming tunelessly and Harry saw her reach over and poke Hermione in the ribs. Hermione didn't react. Neville just regarded Harry at his side. "And you couldn't have given us a heads up or something?" he murmured.

"I wanted to watch Hermione go spare, a little," Harry murmured back. "But mostly I didn't want to let everyone else know where we were going."

"Suuure," drawled Neville.

The negotiation went pretty quickly; there was only an issue regarding 'assets under control of a banking branch' that the students were specifying for a penalty clause – the goblins didn't divide control in that way, and they had to offer a specified amount of wealth for that clause to be meaningful. The delegation counteroffered.

"Double it, then add two zeros," immediately countered Hermione.

The goblin spokesperson erupted in outrage. "You would bankrupt us!"

"Precisely," countered Hermione. "As it stands, this clause is essentially a price for which you may use this spell. My security depends upon you _not_ purchasing the spell. Accordingly, the price is set high enough that you could conceivably pay it, but would strongly prefer not to. This is precisely in line with our original offer, one that you accepted. Are you dealing in good faith?"

The goblins – all of them – immediately went completely silent. Harry was nervous at their long stare and began fingering his wand, and Neville followed suit. Eventually, the spokesperson began to slowly stomp his right foot on the ground. "Your _ta'gruagh_ is strong. You will become an adult, come to work for us. We will conquer with words shaper than steel!" The rest of the delegation began stomping their feet, faster and faster.

Harry looked over at Luna, who was idly picking lint off her jumper. She noticed his expression and whispered, "They like her, don't worry." Harry relaxed and nudged Neville to stand down.

The spokes-goblin announced, "We are in agreement! We will have this spell to travel in goblin lands, and to find a way to keep thieves away. But there is one thing more we must have, and I will not agree until we have it!"

The students immediately were wary, tensing with the unexpected demand.

"I must have your basilisk!" boomed the goblin. His entourage erupted in stomping feet.

Harry shrugged. "We will agree on giving you the spell, and I will give you the basilisk."

The spokes-goblin frowned, and turned to the mass behind him. A few sharp, curt words, and an older goblin walked out from the circle and stood beside Harry. "You are not behaving properly. The fight-of-gold only brings honor when the opponent fights back. I am here to guide you in honorable combat."

Harry turned to the goblin, words pouring from that presence in the back of his mind. "I killed the basilisk because I needed my friends to live. I was willing to die to make the killing blow, and gave my life for it." The goblin's face grew sharper as Harry spoke. "But because there was a phoenix that came to me, that healed me, I risked nothing in this struggle. I can take no glory in this killing of one of God's amazing creations. The body must go to those that can honor it, and because of my fight … that is not me."

The goblin stood with head hung low. He then raised his head and said, "I will speak with my king." He walked to the spokes-goblin, _the king?_ , and they exchanged guttural words.

The one in charge also bowed his head, and walked over to Harry. "Are you also the one who addressed your letter?"

Harry nodded.

"Then I shall take this burden from you, and sing the struggle in your place, of a fight you were not allowed to earn, and an afterlife bereft of glory." The goblin put his hand on one of the copper disks that were sewn to his leather armor, and pulled it off with a mighty heave, handing it to Harry. "Give this to any goblin when you would speak with me. I will hear you." As an aside, the goblin mentioned, "And I will send someone to collect your memory of the fight, so that I may do your struggles justice."

Harry bowed, feeling the slightly cool weight of the metal in his hand. "It is good to speak with my brother. I will do so." _Although this whole memory thing might be a problem._

The king looked strangely at Harry, and then clapped his hand, rubbing them together. "Do not worry about collecting the memory – it will not be a problem for you. So, how are we going to do move this beast?" Harry was completely startled – the accent was gone, the tone was causal, and the formal (and wary) attitude was gone like it had never been. "Can you open a Door into the bank?"

Harry gestured to Hermione, and she made the two steps to join Harry, handing the scroll over to the King. "We don't know," she admitted. "We've never tried anything that far before. This is the first time we've opened a Door technically outside the castle."

"Second time," corrected Harry. "The only reason I was willing to try to have the meeting here was that I've used a Door here once before."

"Right," muttered the king. He turned to the other goblins and called out twice, leading two goblins to join them. After a brief conversation (in a language that was definitely _not_ human), one of the two new goblins surveyed the students.

The students were interrogated – nicely – to determine the limits of the Doors and where they could create them (not that the students actually knew the limits). Eventually it was determined that a Door could be opened to just outside the Quibbler's vault, and the goblins could take the transport of the basilisk from there. Hermione and Luna waved their hands, and the goblins – and the basilisk body – were gone.

Once they were back in the Lair (with Dumbledore hopefully none the wiser), Luna added some context that Harry had been missing. "The leader we spoke with was the King of the Goblins. He is _also_ ," she ticked the positions off on her hand, "their Chief Engineer, Bank Director, Head Saga Singer, and Chief of Hospitality. He directs preserving their history, solving current problems, and charting a course for the future. Being able to speak with him is a privilege that few even know exists, so you've been greatly honored, Harry."

"Huh. I probably should have asked for his name," mused Harry.

"What did they mean when they called me that name?" interrupted Hermione.

"Oh, _ta'gruagh?_ It sort of means … the ability to see around corners. They like how you think and get to the heart of the argument."

Hermione was silent as she thought about a career with the goblins. It looked like it might be better than at the Ministry, at first glance.

That night, another goblin approached the castle, and met Harry on the grounds. One short lesson later and the vial was filled with a copy of Harry's memory. Harry didn't know how he felt about it; one the one hand, the goblins seemed to respect what he'd gone through, but … sharing everything that happened felt like it made the event … a little cheaper.

-o-

 **Monday, January 15, 1996**

Going from a morning run, to snoozing in Binns' class, to requiring absolute attention in double Potions made every Monday somewhat … schizophrenic, Harry felt. He never really was convinced that he was at his best, trying to wake back up into the scholastic terror that Snape created.

But now, Harry felt that he had some help.

"The instructions are on the board. The brewing of this potion should take the majority of the class period. You may begin."

 _Skin of Stone potion. Hmm._ Looking over the ingredient list, Harry could see where some of the components were antagonistic, fighting each other's effects. In the procedures, there were a few things that were done solely to counteract the poor ingredient choices, and then … Harry squinted in thought … _there were portions of the brewing procedure that were less effective than they could have been_ …

He settled into a calm semi-meditative state, and he just _knew_ what he needed to do. He collected all the advised ingredients, and began to prep them at his workstation. Neville, beside him, was following the instructions on the board with a frightening intensity, but was still looking at Harry's actions worryingly. "Harry, you're going to get in trouble!" He hissed.

"Maybe I will, but you won't," was Harry's reply. He didn't falter in his rhythm of preparing the potions base ingredients, stopping when he had finished one of the three piles in front of him. He took his cauldron to the sink at the rear of the potions lab, and collected the purified water he needed to begin. The cauldron was immediately put over the fire, and while it was heating, Harry began to work on the second pile of ingredients.

Neville shook his head – the instructions on the board called for less water, and the plant components Harry put in to steep were not supposed to be added _en masse_. He shook his head and left his suicidal lab-mate to craft his own doom.

That didn't happen until roughly a third of the way through the class period. "POTTER!" Snape roared. "What are you doing?! Stirring your potion will ruin the cauldron!"

Harry held up a hand, indicating that Snape should back off, and didn't pause in his work. "The three tremor-worm hearts induce instability in the layers of the potion to aid mixing. The sloth hairs reduce the speed of the instability, to prevent the mixture from exploding, and to make the potion activate in a reasonable time, humming bird eyelashes must be included. But if you want to avoid all that, you can just stir the potion in a reverse-counter-trefoil pattern, which does not introduce any arithmantic alterations and mixes the potion as desired in the first place. But that requires a rather speedy timetable for the potion creation …" he trailed off, tapped the mixing stirrer on the side of the cauldron, and then lifted the small pot off the magical flame. "… which is now done, sir."

Snape was in full sneer. "And just what book advised you to alter a potions effects for your own convenience?"

Harry shrugged as he poured out three doses of the potion. "But I didn't alter the effects – you can test it for yourself, Professor. It was just so … _obvious_ that this was a more effective way to brew. And I've saved the cost of all these ingredients." He pointed to the third, untouched, pile of ingredients in his prep area.

Snape watched, silent, as Harry poured four doses of the potion into the correct vials, cleaned his cauldron, then cleaned his lab area. Once his equipment (and the unused ingredients) were stowed away, Harry opened his potions book and read silently until the class period was over – Snape's silent inspection not faltering in the slightest.

There was a new rumor making its way around the castle that day, one that Harry and his housemates completely ignored. It eventually died out as it was overtaken by a new piece of gossip, but for those that remembered, _Harry Potter was better at potions than Snape._

-o-

 **Tuesday, January 16, 1996**

Harry found an extra owl in the Lair that morning. A brown, large owl with an unsettling stare and … what looked to be an official letter. _Was that the bank logo?_

The letter proved to be from the office of the King – not the King personally – noting the receipt of Harry's memory. The Goblin King's advisors had viewed the memory, and sent along a sheaf of information about the kind of magic required to produce an artifact like the diary; they also noted that the theoretical behavior of the diary was significantly different than the _actual_ actions observed.

Harry read through the summaries during the down times of his day; he figured they were repulsive enough, he didn't want the actual details inside his brain. It was pretty clear, just though the summaries, that the theory was definitely wrong – so just what was going wrong? _What did Riddle think he was doing … and what did he_ actually _do?_

This would take some serious thought.

-o-

 **Tuesday, January 23, 1996**

Herbology was … amusing with the new Harry. Today's task was repotting Fanged Geraniums, and all students were dodging and swaying like boxing prizefighters. Except for Mr. Potter, who was murmuring to a plant that, while it looked like a Fanged Geranium, did not behave like the others at all.

As Harry softly said, "I am going to place you in a larger pot with more room to grow. It would be a help if you could lean away from me at the moment …" the plant strained away from him, relaxing after Harry had withdrawn his trowel, and surreptitiously attempting to stroke his wrist.

"Now why would you do that, hmm? You are going to absolutely wreck your reputation as the baddest flower in the greenhouse, aren't you?"

The plant turned its bloom away from Harry, and ducked a little.

Neville was letting his pot attack him with impunity, as he watched in amazement while Harry defied all that was known about hostile flora. And in the front of the room, Prof. Sprout watched silently, with guarded face, as she saw the most trouble-prone student of the decade resurrect legendary stories; abilities that were thought to be no more than pipe dreams.

This, too, made the rounds of the castle, mutating into stories that nobody took very seriously. Well, almost nobody. Dumbledore kept up his all-knowing persona (in part) by taking a very keen interest in the rumors people wanted to repeat, and became troubled to hear that _Harry Potter has Dryad blood in his line_.

When decoded, it was still worrying. How could Harry have undergone a ritual – for nothing else could have caused this effect – that would give him instinctive command over plants and knowledge of potions? Was Tom Riddle leaking into Harry?


	23. Preventing Combinations

**Chapter 23: Preventing Combinations**

 **Thursday, January 25, 1996**

While the Magic House denizens were almost completely isolated from the rest of the students, there were still occasional times where there was contact. Harry had been trolling through the library shelves, looking for additional resources for an Astronomy essay, detailing the differences between Muggle constellations and magical. He had given up and was making his way toward the hallway when he was stopped by a familiar shade of red hair. "Hello, Harry."

Harry was … irritated, but tried to be civil. "You may address me as Mr. Potter, Miss Weasley."

Ginny smiled slowly, and reached out to grasp his arm. "Now where would the fun be in that, Harry?" Her voice was low, and she seemed to be trying for 'seductive'.

Harry tried to rein in his annoyance. "My idea of 'fun' does not include you, Miss Weasley." He backed away a bit.

Ginny leaned forward. "You have been hard to get a hold of, Harry. I was hoping that we could spend some time in Hogsmeade together."

"I will not be spending any time in Hogsmeade this weekend, Miss Weasley." As Ginny leaned forward, Harry began to sidle around her, aiming for the Library doors.

"I could really make you enjoy it, Harry," she promised.

Harry repressed a shudder. "I could never enjoy time spent with you, Miss Weasley," he said, then whirled and walked quickly out the door. _What brought_ that _on?_ Then he shrugged. That essay wouldn't take care of itself.

Later, in the Lair, his request for help in understanding was met with a wall of laughter, and no enlightenment. Even from Neville.

But later, as he was drifting off to sleep, he began to wonder how his interest may have shifted without his conscious awareness. _At what point did I discard Ginny as a possible partner? Why?_

And of course, _why is she still after me?_

-o-

 **Friday, January 26, 1996**

Luna was reading a letter from her father. The delivery bird was not an owl (probably – but if there _were_ an odd type of magical owl, Luna would have one), and when Harry had opened his mouth to ask about it, Hermione had laid her hand on his arm. Clearly, she didn't want to even witness a discussion about the oddities of magical fauna.

But when Luna frowned, Harry ignore Hermione's silent plea. "What's wrong, Luna?"

"Nothing, really. It's just … some unexpected news, that's all."

"Want to talk about it?" Harry asked. Hermione made a little twitch, like she was about to bang her head into the desk.

Luna cocked her head to the side. "Father has definitively tracked the Death Stick to its current owner. It was … unexpected and completely evitiable at the same time." Hermione couldn't help but wince a bit. She was forever objecting to Luna's rewriting of English according to her logical, sensible, and completely incorrect internal whims.

But knowledge was compelling, and since it didn't involve animals, she was willing to accept Luna as an authority. "What's the Death Stick?" Hermione asked.

Luna's eyes widened. In pleasure, this time; she dearly loved her opportunities to share the lore and myths of the Wizarding world. "According to the history we have, the story goes like this …" Luna had made some accommodations to Hermione's … eccentricities; she no longer began with 'Once Upon A Time'. Luna related the tale of the Peverell brothers, as objectively and dispassionately as she could. Harry and Neville both stopped what they were doing to listen.

Hermione turned to Harry for some clarification. "Have you heard of this before?"

He shook his head. Neville put in, "That's a fairly common children's story, actually. I'd bet that every child raised in a magical home would have heard it."

Hermione trusted Harry as a reliable source for certain information by now. "Harry, is there really a persona of Death?"

He considered a bit. "I've never had anything indicate that there is. I'd go with 'not'."

"So, that part of the story had to be a reference to something else."

Neville quietly put in, "A lot of people think that the story is a metaphor about how the Peverell brothers defeated a Dark Lord. The most compelling link is that a rising Dark Lord from about the same time period had the same name as a prominent river in the Germanic countries."

Hermione's brow furrowed – she was mentally deconstructing the legend as thoroughly as possible. "And was there a rival Dark Lord in that same period?" she asked Neville.

He looked toward the ceiling. "Um, I don't know. I don't remember hearing of one."

Hermione said, "Which doesn't mean there wasn't one, just that if there was, he didn't rise to the same historical prominence." Luna was listening to Hermione think out loud, and was very attentive. "And the most likely type of individual to be characterized as 'Death' is … a necromancer?" Hermione suggested, tentatively.

Harry nodded. "Makes sense to me," he agreed. Neville and Luna both nodded in agreement.

Hermione kept thinking verbally. "A resurrection stone would be an artifact you would _expect_ a powerful necromancer to create," she mused. "And a wand that was powerful and could cast the killing curse easily would also be something a necromancer would want to make." She leaned back in her chair and laced her hands behind her head. "So why would someone who studies death want to make an invisibility cloak?"

Harry looked at Neville and the both shrugged. Luna joined them verbally, and said, "I don't really know."

Hermione sat forward, a sign that her mind was engaged in high hear. "What so we know about invisibility cloaks?"

Neville scratched the back of his head. "They're basically expensive novelty items," he remembered. "They don't last very long – usually between a year and three years – and they're pretty expensive. The primary ingredient is thestral hair, which in Britain mainly comes from the Hogwarts thestral herd."

Harry felt a little cold chill along his spine.

Luna added, "For some reason, any enchantment incorporating the disillusionment charm is very unstable, and making a cloak without the thestral hair only is functional for two, maybe three hours at the most. Learning the disillusionment charm really is a better way to go. Much more effective."

"So, a long-lasting invisibility cloak …" Hermione thought out loud. "Why would a necromancer have something like that?"

Harry tentatively asked, "Maybe it was just the outcome of something the necromancer was studying?" He really didn't want Luna to think that his father's legacy was something she should tell others about. _Maybe I can distract them?_

"What did the story say the cloak could do?" asked Hermione.

"It could hide the wearer from Death," answered Neville. Luna was swiveling her head to watch the interplay for her housemates.

"And there isn't a person acting as Death …" mused Hermione slowly, "so the Death that the necromancer was looking to avoid was … a magical effect?" She looked at Luna. "What magic is most closely associated with death?"

"The killing curse," Luna responded promptly.

"So a cloak that 'hides from Death' would actually be a cloak that could … make you immune to the killing curse?"

Luna's eyes were wide, and she glanced at Harry and Neville, who were both looking amazed. "That seems to be something that a necromancer would be investigating …" Harry whispered.

"That makes sense," agreed Hermione. "So why would collecting all three items be special?"

After another five minutes of collective brainstorming, everyone gave up without coming to any conclusions.

Later that night, as Harry was cleaning up his desk before bed, Hermione walked by him on her way to her dorms. "Don't use your cloak if you can avoid it," she whispered.

Harry furrowed his forehead, and took her aside for a brief conference. "What do you mean?"

"I won't tell anyone about your cloak, but I'm concerned about the effects that the cloak may have on people who use it regularly. The wand has a history drenched in bloodshed, betrayal, and treachery. It produces death for those who oppose it, _and_ for those who wield it. The stone offers a temptation that drives people to self-destruction. With the first two artifacts clearly harmful to those that use them, I have to wonder about how the cloak treats the people who wear it."

Harry's puzzled look prompted Hermione to explain, "Necromancers tend to treat life as a _power source to be used_ , not something to be preserved!" she hissed. Harry nodded emphatically, and went to bed, wondering how much his early adventures had damaged him.

-o-

 **Thursday, February 1, 1996**

Potions class on Thursday afternoon. Slytherins already at their seats, Gryffindors filing in. And of course, the three House of Magic students waiting at the tail end of the line to enter. _And also wondering just how stupid "Magics" sounded. There just isn't a good nickname for us._

Snape was sitting at his desk, tense and coiled, eyes flitting from target to target. As they took their seats, Harry met Neville's eyes; a fractional nod told him that everything was ready. Last week, Snape had been sarcastically advising both Harry and Neville to "think like a Slytherin" instead of "a brain-dead lion." That was going to be their cue, as he was most likely going to do it again today.

Today's brew was another antivenin potion. A soft smile flitted over Harry's face when he realized that the venom was Acromantula; sending Ron out to collect the venom would have been fun to watch. He shook that out of his head and concentrated – Neville was going to need the cues Harry had for him, and he couldn't afford to miss his lines. Finally, as the two boys were trying to measure out the correct number of venom drops, Snape came by in his 'terrorizing' mode. "Apparently, you require remedial instruction in basic counting. You were to infuse your potion with 5 drops, not six." The potions professor vanished the contents of their cauldron. "Perhaps your 'House of Magic'," he sneered, "prevents you from being able to count on your fingers? Because you two are truly the most imbecilic of the dunderheads I have ever encountered!" Snape voice was soft, but obviously carried to the corners of the room, as everyone was smirking at the two boys.

Harry laid his right hand flat on the table.

Neville Longbottom spoke with uncharacteristic courage. "Perhaps, professor." His voice pitched higher so that all could hear. "But for all your sneering, you seem to have never grasped the art of reasoning."

Snape had begun to leave their lab desk, but stopped. In his silky, dangerous baritone, he inquired, "Why would you say that?"

Harry's forefinger moved away from the rest of his hand.

Neville put down his potion stirrer and faced the professor, only a few inches shorter than the teacher. "You have a past as a Death Eater. That much is known. We also know that you were a spy for Dumbledore against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named." Harry had tried to get Neville to say 'Voldemort' as part of his lines, but he wasn't there quite yet. "We know this because Dumbledore vouched for you in the Wizengamot, sparing you the ordeal of a trial for your actions as a Death Eater."

"Correct, Mr. Longbottom."

Harry moved his fingers and thumb together.

Neville went on, "But this is where most people, if not all, stop their train of thought. Revealing you to the magical government in this way was an act that was operationally insecure, and exposed you to retaliation from those who may have felt that you betrayed them. Dumbledore is well known for hoarding his secrets, and yet people just accept that he did this massively unwise … and _uncharacteristic_ … thing. It would make more sense if Dumbledore revealed an _unnecessary_ conduit of information rather than his _only_ source of information. His actions, in refusing to clamp down on your flamboyant persecution of students, supports this idea; which keeps you highly visible and active … and deflecting people from wondering who _else_ might have been a spy. He apparently felt that letting you destroy the education of upcoming Aurors and healers was a small price to pay for keeping his _true_ spy safe."

Harry made a fist, so Neville softly put in, "It is obvious that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has a method of reading minds. You must be able to prevent that in order to be a spy. And Dumbledore must also be able to prevent that if he is feared by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. So even if Dumbledore opens his mind to you, you cannot fully trust what you find, because his ability to deceive must be as great as yours. So the only way to assure yourself of his intentions is to look at his actions. Like a Gryffindor."

Harry removed his hand from the table, and Neville spoke the punchline clearly for all to hear. "Because if you fear to follow the reasoning to the end, you will never comprehend what is truly going on."

Snape's eyes were bright. Furious beyond what any student had seen before. His face was alternating between white and flushed, veins protruding on his neck and jaw tight. But he was silent, stalking to his desk and taking a seat in an overly-controlled manner, betraying his inner agitation and rage. Students continued their brewing, packed up their belongings and left, all in utter silence. And utter terror.

 _It's perfect._ _ **Nothing**_ _is more important to Snape than his self-image. His_ _ **pride**_ _. And now he is completely sure that nothing he has done for Riddle or Dumbledore is worth anything; his entire life has become a sideshow. It didn't take a potion. It didn't take a spell. Just ninety seconds of words that will echo in his heart forever and destroy his satisfaction with his life._ Harry looked again at Snape's rage-filled eyes _. Or he could put down the burden of his pride and develop humility._

 _Naah. While that's the best outcome, that isn't the way to bet. Especially with him._

Snape's eyes never lost their fire. And that evening, there was a great deal of noise and destruction heard in the dungeon.

Harry, over dinner, murmured, "I wish I had been able to suggest that the real spy was Argus Filtch. That would really have set him off." Both Harry and Neville sniggered at that thought.

That evening, students in the Great Hall that were able to tear their attention away from the food may have noticed a slight change in the natural order: Snape was no longer surveying the students like he was about to choose which ones were to be crushed. Now, his ire seemed directed at the Headmaster.

In return, Dumbledore was no longer smiling benignly at all and sundry – his body language clearly spoke of worry and concern. Given how he would attempt to sneak glances at the Potions Master, and then flinch every time he was caught, Snape clearly featured in Dumbledore's current concerns.

Harry turned to Hermione in their concealed dining spot. "I think that there's a definite rift between the two. Hopefully, this will keep Dumbledore's attention for the rest of the term."

"And if it doesn't?" Hermione was dubious, clearly.

"Then we can use the second idea the Marauders had."

They smirked at each other as Harry shrugged in _what are ya gonna do?_ fashion, and went back to their dinner (a rack of lamb with earthy spices, Hasselback potatoes, an asparagus ribbon salad, and Greek-style braised green beans; it was a meal worthy of their full attention. And it received it.)

-o-

Back in the Lair that evening, the students discussed their next step in distracting Dumbledore.

"Hermione, can you find any curses that would do nothing but remove a male's fertility?"

Her eyes grew wide and she gasped. "Harry, that would be … dark!"

"No, it wouldn't," he disagreed. "It does not involve killing in any way. No one will have anything they currently have taken from them. No outside beings will be called to this plane for any reason. There is no expectation of suffering in this action, and no expressions of hatred or despite. The spell would not need to cause any other effects, either – it would need to just end a man's ability to produce viable sperm in such a way that the effects could not be undone. And we would also need to find – or create – spells and potions that could protect against those fertility damaging spells."

"Harry, you're still talking about …"

"Hermione, think about Draco." She abruptly stopped trying to speak and looked at Harry carefully. "His position – social, political, economic, all of it – is a byproduct of his position as Heir of the Malfoy family. And that position depends heavily upon his ability to continue the family line. If he is unable to do so, then his father will be likely to have another heir, and disinherit Draco. Even if Mr. Malfoy does not do so immediately, Draco will have to behave impeccably to avoid driving his father to that point." As he was talking, Hermione's eyes grew more and more narrow. Harry finished with, "And that kind of social disruption – pointed out by us, possibly fought against by us, but definitely not instigated by us – will consume Dumbledore's attention and further keep him out of my hair." He looked at Hermione soberly.

Finally, she spoke. "Harry, I thought that you had made a commitment to being good."

Harry continued to read and make notes. He continued to speak absently, "I did. But I never made any sort of vow to be nice." He then looked up to meet Hermione's somewhat horrified gaze. "Being good is not just forgiveness and mercy. The primary interaction you will have with the Almighty God is that He will judge you of your actions, and force you to face justice. None of that has anything to do with fuzzy bunnies, mountain meadows full of daisies, or unicorns inexplicably gazing at you with adoration. Being _good_ requires hard choices, hard actions, and a harder heart."

Hermione dropped her gaze. "But …"

Harry reached out and cupped her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. "It is not nice. It _is_ good. And we need Dumbledore to stop manipulating us so we can pass our OWLS and live the lives we choose – not the ones where he tries to get us killed for his own political ends."

She pulled back from Harry's hand and sadly nodded. Harry returned to his plans.

"Well, we'll need to put the spells and potions under the Fidelious charm, and I want you to be the Secret Keeper. The phrase will be, 'Magic House protects all our children.' Then you can give a copy of the book to those that ask, and they won't be able to share the information with others, but – and here's the key – they can't _prevent_ others from having the information. Here's what will go into the book …"

-o-

 **Friday, February 2, 1996**

Prof. Burbage entered the Lair shortly after lunch. "Ah! I thought I'd find you here," she said, lightly walking from her Door.

Harry put down his astronomy book; he was attempting to understand how to calculate the future position of Mars on his own. There was a charm that everyone used, but Harry was curious how the charm worked. The math, though, was very much out of his league, so he was willing to accept any disruption as an excuse to change focus. "What is it now, Prof. Burbage?"

"Actually," she said with a mischievous smirk, "Prof. Dumbledore wants to meet with … Mr. Longbottom." Neville looked up from his book in momentary surprise. His face cleared quickly as he looked toward Harry.

Harry smiled back. "I think we know what _this_ is about."

Neville nodded. "May I ask your services as my backup for this meeting, Mr. Potter?"

"Why, certainly," replied Harry. The two boys were grinning like loons.

Neville asked, "And where does the Headmaster propose to do this thing?"

Prof. Babbling responded with a small, vicious smile of her own. "He seems to have learned, and is waiting for your suggestion. The time, though, is immediately after the evening meal."

Luna was getting her things together, as she had her Runes class in about 20 minutes. "If you can take him to where he thinks you are, but are not, then maybe the Headmaster will think you are not where you are." Her absent minded and twisted advice made something click in Harry's memory.

He hit himself on the head. "Of course!" He turned to Prof. Burbage. "I can show you an out of the way spot on the fourth floor that we can use. If you'll follow me?"

Neville seemed to follow Harry's thoughts, and nodded enthusiastically. "I like it," he told Harry, and went back to his studies. Prof. Burbage followed Harry through his Door, emerging in a hallway within the castle.

"I don't know where we are, offhand," she told Harry.

"Fourth floor, center corridor, heading toward the front of the castle," he said absently. He stopped just before he stepped into the crossing hallway. Turning around, he said, "You'll have to put your hand on my shoulder to make it through the concealment charms. I think that it's the same was when I left it, but we'll have to see."

With Burbage following Harry, they slipped behind the suit of armor and entered Harry's old Lair, and it was largely as Harry had left it. There was a bit of dust here and there, but the table was surrounded by chairs, and the lights were illuminating a truly ghastly swirl of fluorescent colors tinged with a sickly brown. Harry muttered, "Luna outdid herself with this one."

Prof. Burbage looked around approvingly. "What is this place?"

"Our old Lair," Harry told her. "Luna set up a charm that changes the paint on the walls every day. I'm glad I didn't have to live with this one."

Prof. Burbage looked around again, "I think I can see your point. But here," she tapped the table, "is a very good alternative to the Lair for a private meeting. You and Neville together can set up a point-to-point Door for allowing people in, and sending them out past the armor should be a one-way trip. And," she added, "this location is easily sacrificed when Albus decides that he wants to break in."

Harry could just imagine the scene, and he grinned and nodded. "So, who all will be coming? There's Neville, me, you, Dumbledore …"

"I suspect that he will be ordering Filius to accompany him. He's supposedly neutral, but will back up Dumbledore in a conflict."

Harry shrugged. "Doesn't matter; with the Doors, we can escape at the first sign of trouble."

-o-

Right after dinner (which was good enough to distract Harry even after he stopped eating), Harry and Neville approached the staff table, where Dumbledore and Prof. Flitwick – among others – were just finishing up.

"If you are ready, Headmaster, we can transport you and your associate to our meeting place," Neville informed him. Dumbledore wiped his mouth, set aside his napkin, and gestured to Prof. Flitwick down the table.

Prof. Flitwick still had quite a bit of food on his plate, and was reading a book while absentmindedly (and slowly) eating. _Well, he_ is _a Ravenclaw_ , thought Harry. He had observed Luna doing the same, many times. Dumbledore didn't take well to being ignored – he drew his wand and silently sent a spell toward Flitwick.

It didn't connect. In what was one of the most _amazing_ displays of reflexive magic, the entire student body (well, those that were paying attention) saw Prof. Flitwick absentmindedly lean out of the way of the spell, draw his wand, cast a shield, and send what must have been at least three offensive spells back in the general direction of the Headmaster – all without breaking eye contact with the book. It was only after that when he said (still reading), "Pick someone else, Albus. I'm busy."

Harry and Neville both grinned at the momentary look of frustration that appeared on the Headmaster's face. The old man walked to have a private word with Prof. Sprout, who quickly ate a few last bites before standing up from the table. Neville approached them and said, "We have a place prepared for this meeting, if you don't mind. You will have to enter though one of our Doors, though …"

Prof. Sprout was politely interested at getting to experience this new form of travel, and the Headmaster didn't object (not that Harry or Neville were really going to offer anything else.) Neville was handling the 'inbound' part of the Door (Harry had set the last leg up before walking up to the staff table), so he grandly waved his wand using both hands, and mouthed a nonsense incantation - Hermione told him to repeat 'Bippity-boppity-boo' three times.

Neville warned both adults about moving forward so as to not block the landing zone, and Prof. Sprout entered the Door, followed closely by Prof. Dumbledore. Harry and Neville exchanged grins, then followed.

In the Old Lair, the paint scheme was … confusing. Today, there was a dark orange background with a small pattern repeated every six inches or so. But as a person focused on the design, it expanded, so reveal a pulsating, whirling mass of colors that made Harry close his eyes and whimper, "Make it stop!"

Neville, closely followed by Prof. Sprout, replied, "Make what stop?"

Harry suspiciously opened his eyes to find both of them looking innocent and concerned about him. "Never mind," he grumbled. "I think I need to sit over here," and he claimed a seat at the corner of the table. _If I look in this direction, most of the wall will be blocked by everyone else._

Prof. Sprout and Dumbledore took their seats on the other side of the table, leaving Neville to sit on Harry's left. Neville took the initiative, asking, "What would you like to discuss, Headmaster?"

Dumbledore's face was … uninviting. "What falsehoods have you told Prof. Snape this last week?"

Neville was all innocence. "None, Headmaster. Everything that I mentioned was either a fact related to potions, or a train of thought that was merely an alternate interpretation of accepted facts." Neville glanced down at Harry's hands, lying flat on the table. The hand signals they had worked out gave Neville much more confidence in dealing with the Headmaster.

"Then you will please repeat to me your 'train of thought' that you presented to Prof. Snape yesterday."

Neville shrugged as Harry's hand moved. "Prof. Snape has been taunting Mr. Potter and myself about our alleged inability to think. In response, I mentioned to him that one of your most salient attributes is your refusal to share information. I contrasted that with your actions in declaring, to the entire Wizengamot, _in an insecure environment,_ that Prof. Snape had betrayed You-Know-Who. The most reasonable conclusion is that you have another person acting as a spy among the Death Eaters, and that you willingly made Prof. Snape's entire life a distraction to protect your true source of information."

Harry cut in, "What I really find interesting is that Prof. Snape is immediately willing to believe that you would do such a thing. I always has assumed that Snape was your committed supporter, but his willingness to instantly believe our assumptions makes me wonder … what has he seen you do, Prof. Dumbledore?"

Dumbledore replied stiffly (and perhaps wearily), "What I do is for the Greater Good."

Neville took the opportunity to say, "And we wanted to talk about that, too." There had been a number of late-night conversations in the Lair, so Neville was very well armed for this topic.

So was Harry. "So tell me, Professor, what exactly is this 'Greater Good' of yours?" Harry's tone of voice wasn't exactly disrespectful, but …

Dumbledore cleared his throat and twinkled madly. "Those that have the experience, wisdom, and knowledge guide the Wizarding World for the best outcome for all magical beings."

"Sounds good," acknowledged Harry. "So let's look at the brass tacks. If your plans for the," and here Harry used his fingers to create air quotes, "'Greater Good', would be made easier by someone's death, are the leaders allowed to arrange such a thing?"

Albus frowned. "It would be distasteful, but if it would truly make everyone's lives better, then it should be done, after much soul searching and only if there was no other way."

"Even if the sacrificial person did not volunteer for this?"

Albus sighed heavily. "Even so."

Harry spoke softly, but could be heard with perfect clarity. "That's not a sacrifice, Albus. A sacrifice is giving up something you own. You do not own another's life, never have, and never will. What you agreed to is a conspiracy to murder an innocent, one of the foulest of acts to take another's life for your own gain." He paused. "All of your efforts to avoid the blame for the murder of one innocent lead you to this point, where you routinely plot to murder one after another."

Dumbledore looked impassively at Harry – who decided to up the ante, guided by his intuition. "You kill your family, you kill your friends, you kill the children you're supposed to protect, you kill the people who ask you to lead them … your entire life is built on the deaths of those you were supposed to keep alive."

There was a reaction now - Albus's eyes were wide with horrified denial.

Harry went on. "Justice is an eternal given; everyone will face the consequences of their actions. But mercy is not – it cannot be anything deserved, because that would make it part of justice, which it is not. Marcy is a lifting of the demands of justice – but if the consequences of one's actions are not actually determined, then what you offer cannot be mercy. Do you see where I'm going with this?"

Albus' expression hadn't changed from the horror he initially displayed, so Harry decided to hammer the point home. "You are not offering mercy, because your recipients are not indicating that they can receive it. There has not been any punishment specified, so you are actually _perverting_ the course of justice, and acting as an accomplice to help malefactors escape the legal and moral consequences of their own actions."

Harry had overplayed his hand. Before Harry's eyes, Albus' expression changed. He gathered his composure, and said, "No. My actions have been – and always are – dictated by the Greater Good. I am the Leader of the Light," and here, Harry could hear the capital letters in the titles slide into place, "and I have only done what needs to be done. I am not the monster you imagine me to be, Mr. Potter."

Harry shrugged. "And I believe that the 'needs'" (here Harry gestured to indicate quotes) "that drive your actions are primarily preserving your political power and escaping the consequences of your illegal, and frequently immoral, actions; you are guilty of handing out unasked for pardons before the law can be brought to bear on people that nakedly indicate that they are working toward the destruction of the Wizarding World. We seem to be at an impasse."

Prof. Sprout, who had been intently following this conversation, was now visibly controlling her expression, probably to hide her revulsion. Dumbledore's denials were not for his actions, but for the truth of his actions, and were quite unconvincing. Dumbledore himself was tacitly accepting Harry's ability to pronounce upon moral issues, and was very much condemned.

Harry decided to up the ante; the information given from the goblins made for a number of _intense_ late night brainstorming sessions in the Lair. "Headmaster, are you aware of how Riddle was able to avoid his own death?"

Dumbledore's expression sharpened, far beyond his earlier interest. "I am … Mr. Potter. But that is an act of extremely dark magic, and I will not impart that secret."

Harry waved his hand dismissively (the right one, to avoid opening a Door. There were more than a few mishaps generated by the late-night skull sessions in Magic House.) "I'm completely aware of what Riddle did, Dumbledore. In fact, I wanted to point out to you the difference between what he intended, and what he actually accomplished. But there's another point that I have to bring up first." Harry paused to let Dumbledore's train of thought catch up. "You know that what Riddle did was an act of unspeakable evil, something that is quite outside the ordinary realm of bad acts. Correct?"

Albus nodded, eyes locked on Harry.

"So, since you know that you are facing an act of supreme evil that must be countered, did you ever attempt to receive the intervention of God to provide a victory over Riddle?"

Albus slowly shook his head, still wary. "There is no need, my boy. Tom did something that was truly evil, but I believe that I can convince Tom that it will be in his best interest to … reverse his actions."

Harry nearly goggled, the way Neville did. _Dumbledore was convinced that he could_ talk _Voldemort out of being evil and giving up his immortality?_ He inwardly shook his head to re-focus. "So, when dealing with a situation where failure means that the entire world is doomed, you can't bring yourself to ask God for assistance? Sounds about right …" He shook his head outwardly this time.

"But even so, I don't think that either you _or_ Riddle understand what Riddle actually did. Think about what he wanted to create with his little … objects." Dumbledore was very alert and was undoubtedly very committed to making sure that the world 'horcrux' was never uttered, but Harry couldn't help pushing that button a little bit. "And when you compare what he wanted to make, with the behavior of what he actually made, you can see that he didn't actually succeed in what he wanted to do."

The late night brainstorming in the Lair had settled upon what probably happened; Tom wanted to anchor his soul in mortality by fastening pieces of it into tethers. However, by fracturing it, he instead created competing versions of himself, and they would only act as anchors for a short time after the act. Luna's view – which Harry greatly respected – was that each piece would only anchor him to this life for seven months, based upon the growth of souls _in utero_. Hermione thought that they might work for a period around four years, and her opinion was based on child development. But it wasn't worth debating the issue with the aged Headmaster – instead, they simply thought that rubbing his nose in the observed evidence would get him thinking along the lines they needed.

Harry summed up what Dumbledore had admitted. "So, when faced with evil that you literally refuse to speak of, your commitment to your own legend and publicity still won't let you receive direction from the one being that you know will triumph over it. And you can't be bothered to see what that evil is really doing instead of believing the press releases put out by your enemy." Harry snorted. "No wonder you can't keep the confidence of your followers."

Neville changed the subject. "Headmaster, I believe that you should consider what we have told you and the arguments we have put forward. There is an exit from this room in that corner," Neville waved his hand toward the shadowed entrance, "and you should have no problem finding your way from there." As Dumbledore rose form his chair, a worried expression on his face, Neville continued, "I have some business to speak of with Prof. Sprout, so I would ask that she remain for a bit, if that's okay?" he asked her.

"Yes, yes," allowed Dumbledore. He left the room, head bowed in thought.

Prof. Sprout was little horrified at how the Headmaster had admitted to behaving. "Did he really do all that?"

Harry shrugged. "It seems so. But we wanted to warn you about some of his other actions and some actions he has not taken." Prof. Sprout's expression indicated keen interest.

Neville summarized their previous meeting with Dumbledore, and added, "He does not seem to have gone through with the removal of the loyalty potion from his system. Prof. Flitwick was there, and without his pressure, Dumbledore would not have gone through with the medical procedure, so we suspect that Prof. Flitwick has been tampered with. Perhaps obliviated. Given what you witnessed here as well, we thought you should be warned and prepared, as Dumbledore is clearly unable to accept opinions that do not flatter him."

Pomona Sprout was obviously willing to believe that she should take extraordinary steps to protect herself. She thanked the boys, and left the ex-Lair.

Neville exchanged a look with Harry – they both were sure that Dumbledore would have left a listening charm in the room, regardless of how distracted they made him. "Two?" Neville asked, referring to their next step toward sowing chaos.

"Two," Harry agreed firmly. _As soon as possible. Because if this conversation didn't convince him to change his behavior, we'll need the big guns._ Even so, he was a bit uneasy.


	24. Breeding

**Chapter 24: Breeding**

 **Tuesday, February 6, 1996**

Care of Magical Creatures was a class that had dire need for a classroom. At least in the cold highland winters. Today, they were gathered in a stable that gave shelter to the thestral herd – great winged, somewhat reptilian horses that could not be seen unless the viewer has previously seen Death. Hagrid was lecturing on what that really meant: "… if yah'd seen someone die, then yah'll can see the thestrals. But even if'd yah can't see'm, yah can still feel'm. C'mon up 'ere ..."

Draco Malfoy just had to provide an elitist commentary. "As if that great oaf, mucking about with dumb creatures, could do anything useful!" His scorn was palpable, and Harry found that just the opportune moment to jump in.

"Why, Mr. Malfoy, isn't all _your_ power based in biology?"

Malfoy whirled around to face Potter, his expression already set in an aristocratic sneer – or what he thought passed for one, at least. "My _power_ , Potty, comes from being a pure-blood wizard. I know the right people, and can buy all the rest." His lackeys contributed the expected appreciative crowd noises. The rest of the class were starting to pay attention to the Malfoy-Potter clash, eager to not miss any spell work. (There was a rumor of actual fisticuffs a few years ago, but no eye witnesses came forward, much to everyone's dismay.)

"That's just it, Mr. Malfoy. Your power comes from your position, and your position is that of heir to your father, right?"

"So?" That was said with just the right amount of condescension – Malfoy wasn't butchering his lines much anymore. _Not that he knows what they are; I'm just lucky he's so predictable_.

"It's the biology that you should be aware of, Mr. Malfoy." Oddly, whenever Harry said his opponent's last name, it was done with … respect. Onlookers found it very odd, but they couldn't put their finger on just why that was. "You might want to consider just how your father would react if your fertility became an issue."

"What?"

"If you were no longer able, by whatever means, to sire the next generation of Malfoys." There was a sudden hush in the on looking crowd. "In my cursory research, I have found at least three spells and four potions designed to end a male's fertility – sometimes permanently. The booklet on maintaining family lines from the Ministry was incredibly helpful, as it highlighted several charms to beware of. Of course, your father would have to make his revenge public, obvious, and overwhelming; partly so any thoughts of further interference would be discouraged."

The male Slytherins hearing this sported a mix of frightened and speculative expressions. Harry continued, "That only means, however, that anyone desiring to end your influence will do so by attacking anonymously; or, perhaps, sacrificing their own life to take out an entire family. But in any case, your influence only lasts for as long as you can support your father's plans for a family legacy. And from what I've observed, you are not taking any precautions against this interference in Malfoy family business." Now their expressions edged more toward fearful; the female Slytherins were taking up the slack in the speculative emotions.

"You, Mr. Malfoy, have used your power and influence without regard to enemies you might have made. And any one of them could hit you with a spell, or dose you with a potion, that would end your power … forever. Your family influence, your financial power, your social position … gone in an instant. And even if you _survived_ your father's wrath, he might limit your support by also divorcing your mother …"

The pure-blooded students were able to fill in the blanks for themselves (Harry had this explained to him by Sirius and then again by Neville). Given the emphasis on breeding, a child that persistently failed could – even would – be blamed on their parent. A failed child could not be replaced by a child that had the same parents, because that would be inviting the same poor breeding to fail in the same way; at least one of the replacement child's parents would have to be changed to insure a different outcome for the child of that Family. If Draco was disinherited, he would probably be joined by his mother as soon as he was cast out of the Malfoy family.

As Harry extracted himself from the crowd and made his way over to the thestrals, he noticed that most of the young men were pale, with a few of them actively looking around and appraising their dorm mates. For the female Slytherins, the proportion was reversed; most were appraising their male housemates and finding them wanting, with a few pale and edging away from their classmates in fear. Pansy Parkinson was in the latter group; Harry wasn't sure if Draco belonged in the majority of males or the minority of females. Either way, Draco was now absolutely scared, trying not to show it, and aware that he wasn't very convincing.

 _Nice is different than good_. Harry smiled, petting the thestrals warm skin. Revenge may be best cold, but it was pretty darned satisfying when the bastards do it to themselves. And even good guys can get righteous revenge. Still, was Harry out of line in opening this can of worms? He didn't know.

Harry walked to be apart from the other students, and sank to sit on the ground with legs crossed. He placed his hands on his knees and exhaled slowly. In the back of his mind, he reached for the sliver of Presence that continually dwelt there, and he did his best to let it fill him.

Birds from the Forbidden Forest landed on his arms and shoulders. Fairies emerged from the long grasses, dancing above his head. And thestrals, the object of the day's lesson, invisibly emerged from the shadows around Harry, bumping students aside, to sniffle at his legs and hands. In the crowded conditions, Nott's and Parkinson's feet were stepped on, and Hagrid had to step in and forcibly move the steeds away from Harry. The class let out early, with male Slytherins leading the way back to the castle … clustered in a group that was clearly defensive.

-o-

Tuesdays were busy for Magic House, but … this really couldn't wait. Harry spoke to some second and third years in all the other Houses – he had to approach several from Slytherin House to find a cooperative one, but by 7 that evening, all the Houses has a notice posted in their common room:

 _A Notice From Magic House_

 _There are several charms and potions that can protect male students from being the end of their lines. If you are interested in this knowledge, please contact Miss Granger of Magic House to receive copies of these protective magics, and tutoring if necessary. No money or other obligation need be exchanged for this knowledge._ _ **Simply ask and ye shall receive**_ _._

 _Not all students will have the education to use this knowledge. If you are willing to cast protective spells or brew protective potions for others, please sign below._

Hermione had insisted on adding the last paragraph, as the potions were beyond 3rd year skills. "What good does the recipe give them if they can't actually use it?" Harry had immediately agreed.

Hermione reported in the Lair just after curfew, "There was a long line waiting for me in the library where I usually study. It's a good thing we prepared ahead for this giveaway, 'cause I only have two copies left."

Luna asked, "Did wrackspurts overcome any Houses?"

Hermione had developed the ability to translate Luna-ese without becoming visibly annoyed. "Hufflepuff was first in line, and was originally very upset that we had this information under Fidelius. I explained that it was a pre-emptive measure so that everyone could access the protection, and they cleared that right up. I thought they were going to take all the booklets we had made, but when I explained what we were doing, they took only one book, and just had me whisper the Secret to everyone. They took care of copying the information around to their students."

Neville asked, "What about the other Houses?"

"Gryffindor only had a few representatives," Hermione stated, correctly guessing where Neville's interest lay. "All male, none from Fifth Year or below. Slytherin seems to be hanging back, in the upper years, with only lower years asking for books – I sent them to other Houses for help in casting and brewing. Ravenclaw was the House that took the majority of the books; all years were coming up to me like a bad spy movie, 'Hey chickie, ya got th' goods?'" Hermione spoke her impression out of the side of her mouth in a bad nasal whine. She shook her head. "I don't think that any of them were interested in helping other students, either."

Luna sadly agreed, "The nargles have infected them all, it seems."

Harry reached over and mussed her hair. "Good thing we rescued you before they got to you, too."

Luna smiled, but spoke on a different subject. "Hermione, maybe you should talk to Madame Pomfrey first thing tomorrow morning. She would be a good, neutral resource for those that can't cast or brew on their own."

Hermione nodded. "Good thought. I'll do that right before breakfast."

Harry was also in favor – it reduced his discomfort at the way this was all playing out.

-o-

 **Wednesday, February 7, 1996**

There was an announcement before breakfast; all students had apparently been herded into the Great Hall as soon as breakfast began, leading to an unusual amount of noise. They were all hushed by Prof. McGonagall's presence at the podium.

"There was an unusual amount of magical horseplay last evening. The spells used are highly offensive and quite dangerous. This is what you will experience the next time you attempt to threaten your classmate: your wand will be confiscated. You will be confined to a three foot square cell until the Aurors are available to receive you. No food, water, or sanitary facilities will be made available during the time you still remain at Hogwarts; you will remain in that cell with no exceptions. And the Aurors … will be legally prosecuting _all_ students turned over to them."

The students were dead silent.

"The use of magic against other students is forbidden, and I will be handling _all_ disciplinary cases that arise, from now on. The kindness of the Headmaster will no longer save you from the consequences of your actions." A glance behind Prof. McGonagall revealed the sorrowful face of the Headmaster. Harry privately bet himself that his sorrow was more because he wasn't able to pardon offenders (and imply that they are indebted to him) rather than for the offenses that were going on.

Madame Pomfrey had arrived during the last part of the Deputy Headmistress' announcement, and she approached the podium herself. "If any student feels at risk from the magical attacks that began last night, please come to the Hospital Wing for some preventative charms."

In a whisper that entirely failed to be confidential, Prof. McGonagall asked, "What about … fertility assessments?"

The return whisper from Madame Pomfrey was similarly public. "Merlin, no! If those boys want to submit samples, they can do it at St. Mungo's! Not to _me_!"

The massive snort from the student population alerted the teachers that they were a bit less circumspect than they thought, and the morning announcements were over. The laughter remained, however. Owls were immediately sighted as the incoming morning mail was delivered, and a large number of letters were dropped off at the Slytherin table.

That evening, Harry sent a letter to Sirius, asking about some of the lesser aspects of the Fidelious charm. Hedwig was glad for the assignment, and Harry felt a little more comfortable with additional information coming his way. He wasn't quite sure why; he just felt that there was something important he wasn't paying attention to. But the letter would take care of that nagging feeling for the moment.

Sirius was probably going to be more interested in the war Harry had 'innocently' started; the conflict was (almost) exclusively between Pure-Bloods, as they worked to exterminate the future of enemy families. Not all enemies were political opponents, either; the rumors had it that Slytherin House was wildly dangerous for males, even though they almost all agreed on following the lead of Tom Riddle's ideology.

One enterprising Ravenclaw (7th year) took the sterility charms apart, and announced that one of the _temporary_ sterility charms would protect against the effects of the _permanent_ sterility charm: he was unable to find anyone that would cooperate for human trials, although he claimed it was "perfectly safe". When asked if he used this method for his _own_ protection, he reddened and walked away – that was the end of _that_. The Hufflepuffs had put a House procedure in place by Tuesday afternoon, so that all males were given the protection charms as they left the Common Room. Gryffindors were following the lead of the other three houses, in that everyone was on their own to arrange protection, if they even worried about it.

Harry had a few stray thoughts about protection for himself and Neville, but it didn't concern him overmuch. With their Doors and other security, he figured he didn't have much to worry about.

-o-

Sirius' return letter came in the afternoon, delivered by a very fat and happy Hedwig.

 _Harry,_

 _Seriously? I know you expect the name-pun all the time, but really … seriously? In all the confusion and jockeying for position that accompanies the rise of another (or even a recycled) Dark Lord, you drop into the mix the generational assassination of Houses? And try to claim, "It's not my fault?"_

 _ **Brilliant!**_

 _You will probably see a solid twenty present of Moldy-shorts' supporters drop away from him over this – even more if any one of them has the backbone to claim a 'principled stance' against these tactics and isn't punished for it. I haven't found any records indicating that this tactic was ever used in_ any _political conflict in Britain, so it will probably be a while before a coherent stance emerges against this._

 _Your best protection is one you already took; make sure that the opposition cannot lock protection information away from you. So – the Fidelious. I can't find any information on how magical power requirements change as the number of Secret-holders increases, and since I DO have information on other spells like that, you can assume that it doesn't matter. Also, there is nothing to indicate a 'shelf-life' for the written Secret, so don't worry about that, either._

 _While not suggesting that I am in any way involved, I have to report that on Tuesday, I witnessed Lucious Malfoy become unable to sire children. (That's the brownish-purple one, right?) Draco might find himself in a permanent body-bind and wrapped in cotton come the weekend._

 _I just can't get over it! You simply warn them of a weakness, and they immediately tear themselves apart exploiting that against_ each other _! Again – brilliant!_

 _Your very proud Godfather,_

 _Sirius_

Harry was glad to have the info about the Fidelious charm. Actually having Sirius be proud of him was truly a little irritating, as he was fairly sure that his new moral compass was almost opposite of his Godfather's inclinations. Harry frowned. Perhaps he should pay a little more attention to that … irritating feeling?

"Dobby?"

Pop. "Yes, Great Master Harry Potter, Sir?"

"I think that I need a box of salt."

Dobby's eyes went wide. Pop-pop. Salt was in his hand.

"Thank you, Dobby. I would appreciate it if you and Winky could clean the ritual room so that I could use it immediately after dinner."

Dobby was evidently ecstatic to be asked to clean, and began visibly bouncing – vibrating might have been a better word – before he popped away.

Harry had already attended Herbology, and decided to skip Care of Magical Creatures (in fifteen minutes) and Astronomy that evening. This was … just too important.

Where could he be alone – where could he be at school, but where the staff couldn't get to him?

 _The rooms are out, the hallways are out, the grounds are out … where can I go that doesn't involve me leaving the castle, but where the staff cannot go … obvious!_

Harry opened a Door to the Chamber of Secrets, and spent the afternoon meditating under the gaze of Salazar's statue, which was fairly uncomfortable, and the constant dripping of condensation made it worse. But … Harry felt calmer, more focused, when he turned up for dinner.

A simple plate of very tasty Spanish dish – roasted potatoes and roasted chicken, over rice with tomatoes – failed to dent Harry's reverie. He completely failed to notice Luna waving off Neville and Hermione's efforts to converse, and left as bemused as he had arrived.

In his room, Harry changed into the white, all natural clothes he had last worn in the wee hours of Christmas morning. One Door trip into the Lair, one into the hall outside of 'his' ritual room. He inspected the floor and walls; no dust or markings. Nothing to keep him from beginning – which vaguely irritated him, as he wasn't sure if he should do this.

Well, he was sure that he _should_ – he just wasn't sure if he would _survive_ again.

Deep breath. "Dobby and Winky?"

Pop-pop. "Greatest Master Harry Potter, Sir needsing help?"

Harry smile involuntarily. "I just needed to say thank you before I begin this. You can rest well tonight, knowing that your help is much appreciated."

Winky teared up before Harry was done with his last sentence. "Winkys not to being thanked for being Good Elf! Why does Greatest Master Harry Potter Sir do this?"

Dobby was looking a bit alarmed, and trying to – vainly – shush his fellow servant. He finally put his hand over Winky's mouth and apologetically told her, "Masters always does what theys wants, even if not good for Elfs." He then popped away, distraught Winky over his shoulder like a bundle of laundry.

Harry was … quite _diverted_ by this event, and it took a while for him to focus on what he was doing. Or what he needed to do and had procrastinated up to this point, in actuality.

He knelt, and began to pour the salt out in the circle for the final step in the ritual purification. As he switched hands to continue the circle on his left side, the room brightened and a tall figure appeared. Harry stopped and looked quizzically at the figure. It said in a strong, very mellifluous voice, "I am glad to see you asking for guidance, young Harry."

Harry studied his hand in the radiant light. The light was sharper than he remembered, the edges of shadows were outlined in a deep purple that was at the edge of his perception, and slightly hurt to study closely. He looked at the figure, outlined by the piercing light, and then …

… turned back to finish the circle of salt. The figure, amused, said, "That is quite unnecessary, little one. I am already here."

Harry took no notice, and put down the empty container as the circle was finished. On his knees, he closed his eyes briefly. _May God send a messenger to direct me in correcting my mistakes and save me from the enemies I have found._

When his eyes were again opened, he stood. "You should leave now," he said flatly.

The response was amused, again, with more than a bit of condescension. "You have come to this place, in those robes, to ask for guidance, to know what you should do. I am here, in response to your plea, to tell you precisely what your actions should be so that you may be accepted of me."

Harry regarded the person in front of him. "You arrived before I made my plea – you cannot be here because of it. Your presence is … lesser … than the Messenger I have met with before;" the persona was growing visibly angry now, "you are not sent from the presence of God the Creator. You seem reluctant to identify yourself, you are clearly a fraud, and I am telling you to leave now. You are not wanted."

The anger that became visible as Harry pointed out the failures on his part had grown, and there was full-fledged fury as Harry stopped speaking. "I AM YOUR GOD, AND WILL HAVE YOUR WORSHIP," he cried, and Harry was desperately hoping that his circle, purified and blessed, would stand against this spite.

But it was unnecessary. "You have no dominion here, begone!" came from behind Harry, and Harry felt once again the peace and security that accompanied the Messenger. The harsh light that accompanied the imposter vanished with the end of the odd assault, and Harry turned to see the Messenger he remembered from his first prayer.

"You have moved into dangerous waters, Harry. As you have shown that you will turn to God for assistance and guidance, you are now marked in the sight of His enemies, and you will face them throughout your life. If you wish to turn away from God, be warned; The Lord God does not support those that have broken faith with Him, and you will be left to face the enemies you have made without Him."

Harry gravely nodded. As he expected, that first use of this ritual was a step that he could never take back or undo. He was committed, now, and had been since he had luxuriated in the Presence of God's Light.

He hesitantly spoke, "I have … made a right mess of things, and I believe that I cannot right what I have done wrong without guidance and assistance. Please teach me."

A warm feeling flowed over Harry, and the Messenger's formidable expression softened. A long conversation followed, Harry speaking very little and listening very hard.

-o-

After Neville and Hermione returned from Astronomy that evening, Harry spoke with Hermione in the Lair. "Hermione, have you noticed any magical drain as you tell the Secret to people?"

She frowned in concentration. "No, I don't think that there was one. Why?"

"I'm a little concerned that we need to step up distribution of the protective pamphlet. Sirius wrote me and he said that there are sterilizing efforts going on outside of Hogwarts."

Neville broke in, "Anyone we know?"

Harry tried – very hard – to keep a straight face. "Um, Lucious Malfoy, apparently."

Neville didn't try at all. "Yeah!"

"Anyway … I think we need to get the word out better. It's too late for some, but we could save others."

Hermione pulled a sheet of parchment toward her, and dipped her quill. "Well, we might be able to make a deal with Flourish and Blotts to carry it for a small fee, or maybe we could get Gringott's to distribute them, but then how to we get the secret out …"

Luna spoke up, "Put it on the cover."

"What?" Hermione found it difficult to jump trains of thought; Luna had no such impediment.

"Put the Secret on the cover of the pamphlet. The Fidelious is still keeping anyone from controlling the spells for themselves, but the access is free for everyone that reads it." Luna doodled a bit then added, "Or you could put it in a newspaper …"

"Yes!" shouted Harry. He was suddenly trying to do seven things at once. "Luna, would your father be willing to print a run of the Quibbler focusing on this? Maybe a double run? I'll cover the costs so he can give it away for free. Hermione, you may need to typeset the Secret so it can be printed. We need to check. Dobby!"

Dobby popped into view uncomfortably close to Harry. "Dobby, I will need to get a message to Luna's father as soon as we have it ready. Can you do that?"

"Dobby will be doing anything that Master Harry Potter needs him to be doings."

Harry looked askance at the house-elf's blanket declaration, but didn't want to argue. Dobby was quickly finding himself ferrying messages back and forth between Mr. Lovegood and the students. Hermione and Luna created a Door that led to Luna's home, where Hermione was required to both typeset the Secret and continually have a hand on the printing press for it to work. Fortunately, Mr. Lovegood only needed to print off twenty four "good" copies for his magical duplicating system to get to work – and it didn't have a problem with the Secret. (Everyone checked, multiple times. Magic didn't follow any rules that made sense. Luna pointed out, "It's _magic_ , silly." Neville snorted, and Hermione blinked back her tears of frustration.) 

-o-

 **Thursday, February 8, 1996**

The Quibbler Emergency Edition was distributed freely at Hogwarts, and, according to Mr. Lovegood, all along Diagon Alley, in St. Mungo's, and at the Ministry. All the students seemed appreciative, and the _Daily Prophet_ had nothing to keep people's attention once they knew that their protection came from another source.

Harry eventually gave up trying to pay for the publication. Mr. Lovegood refused all payments, stating that this was the best publicity that his newspaper could have gotten, and that he was actually a bit ahead, since his regular circulation had increased slightly, and the advertisement rates for the free issue had been fantastic.

Indeed, in the autumn of 1996, the number of Inverted Carrots, Whirling Beets, String Bean Pipe Organs, Multi-Flavored Pickles, and Muggle Turnips that were entered in Wizarding County Fairs hit a record number. (That last variety was quite popular, even though it wasn't magical at all. Magic seemed to adversely affect some people's taste-buds, Harry figured.) The Greengrass Seed Company – a primary advertiser in the Quibbler – did quite well for a number of years after the Emergency Edition, and Miss Greengrass was seen in quite upscale (and thus, expensive) fashions for the rest of her educational years.

Sadly, nobody at Hogwarts had the attention span to connect the two events, and Miss Greengrass was quite closemouthed about, well, everything.


	25. Authority

**Chapter 25: Authority**

 **Monday, February 12, 1996**

The DADA class was both sleep inducing and terrifying. The textbook was still Slinkhard's _Directions for Cowardice_ (as Harry continually thought of it), and _that_ ceased to be interesting way before he even opened the book's covers. The class, on the other hand, was under Umbridge's control, and her suck-up attempts made her an object of derision, even among those she was attempting to flatter. For those that were not part of her 'favored class', she was … merciless. Posing obscure questions (that frequently made no sense) and then mocking any failed answers, and following that up with absurdly long detentions. It wasn't the detentions that were the true horror; it was having to be in Umbridge's presence and having to endure her 'lectures.' Harry had been left out of the detention assignments, to a degree; he was assigned them, but continually with Filtch instead of her. He didn't find that too much of a problem.

Today, however, something 'ping'ed at the back of his brain, and he started to pay attention to her current diatribe. "… and the presence of squibs in upstanding, magical families indicates that Mudblood children are most certainly stealing the magical abilities from families of great renown …"

Harry's hand was in the air, urgently waving. Umbridge didn't call on Harry for the most part, but perhaps his expression (of alarm) convinced her to do so this time. Or perhaps she was still looking for an opportunity for some sort of revenge. "Yes, Mr. Potter? You have a question?"

Harry ignored her tone and urgently asked, "Is this something you're sure of? I mean, we know how it is done, even if we can't defend against it?"

Umbridge's voice lost a significant part of its syrupy sweetness. "The Ministry of Magic is currently researching this issue to protect the Great and Noble Houses. Why does this issue trouble you so, child?"

Harry ignored the condescension. "Because to even suggest that stealing magic is possible … changes everything I thought about magic." He looked around at his classmates; he had, naturally, attracted all of their attention. "I mean, I had assumed that there was something inside me …" He grappled vaguely in the air, "something pink and squishy, probably, that generated or collected magic." He knew his audience, and they recoiled appreciatively. "There's stories of how the Ministry can bind a person's magic …"

Umbridge interrupted, "A convicted felon's magic …"

Harry acknowledged, "… a _convicted felon's_ magic, but that's just twisting their own gift so that it can't work for them. If the gift of magic can actually be _stolen and given to someone else_ , then … that means that magic isn't actually a physical gift, and probably is attached to our souls – which makes sense, considering the ghosts we see." Harry was sort-of making this up as he went along; there was something at the back of his mind that was making this all sound coherent, but it wasn't something he was doing consciously.

He could see his classmates nodding along – and that Umbridge was completely hooked on what he was saying, as it reinforced her conspiracy. He paused for them to digest what he said while he waited for the next idea to bubble up in his brain.

He wasn't disappointed.

"But that means that when magic is stolen," Harry was careful not to accuse anyone of actually doing such a thing, "they are taking part of our very _souls_!" This produced a recoil of horror among the fifth years.

"But," Harry added as new thoughts came to him, "this _also_ means that magic can't actually run in families – because how could _physical_ inheritance, like the Weasley's red hair, or the Malfoy's pale blonde hair," He gestured to the students in question, "possibly influence something that's completely separate from the body?"

His classmates were stunned and wide-eyed. Harry raised his hands in confusion – mostly feigned. "I mean, I know that I was raised in the Magical world, so there's lots of stuff I don't know … and my entire theory falls apart if this isn't there … but there isn't a ceremony or ritual or something that Wizarding families do with their newborn children, right?"

 _Every_ member of a Wizarding family looked uncomfortable, and most looked at the floor, Umbridge excepted – she was merely as pale as the ghosts. "It's the Naming Ceremony. It's got to be," whispered Tracy Davis.

Harry wasn't surprised, and he took control (as Umbridge was horrified and mentally paralyzed.) "Then we can't let this get out! Nobody can mention this to anybody until the Ministry gives the okay!" He turned to their teacher, who was still trying to puzzle out how she had become the thief rather than a victim. "Professor Umbridge, can you talk to somebody? Someone from St. Mungo's, maybe? Or an Unspeakable? Because if there _is_ a 'pink squishy thing'", he repeated his hapless gestures in the air, "then nobody is stealing souls. Or if there is evidence that this 'Naming Ceremony'," and he made air quotes to emphasize his point, "is verified safe, then we're okay. But if it's not …" Harry gestured helplessly, "then we're all infected with Muggle souls!" _Which is going to get them moving more than if I accuse them of stealing magic, themselves. Even if it_ is _true._

The class recoiled, looked panicked (none more so than the Slytherins,) and were dismissed.

He remembered Dumbledore's words to him, almost three years ago; _It is a secret, and so naturally everyone knows..._

Harry slept with a smile on his face. The more Dumbledore had to fix, the less he could manipulate Harry and his friends. This was kind of … fun.

-o-

 **Tuesday, February 13, 1996**

The Charms class was … amusing to Harry. The Slytherin males were comically paranoid, eyes darting all around as if they were to be attacked at any moment. The female Slytherins were moving very cautiously, leaving the boys well enough alone, and telegraphing their movements well head of time. Harry found this amusing in the extreme; with the Magic House edition of the Quibbler available for free all throughout the school, all they were doing was demonstrating that their prejudice was strong enough to end their family lines.

In the exaggerated watchfulness of the Slytherins, however, they were attracting each other's attention more than keeping an adequate watch for anything else. Thus they missed something that had Harry stay after class.

"Mr. Potter, are you feeling any … blockage … in your magic?" asked Prof. Flitwick.

He shook his head, "No, sir. I feel fine, and there's been no change in how I cast spells or the effect they have."

Prof. Flitwick's eyes narrowed. "Your spells are noticeably less… vibrant … than they should be. Your first cast had the proper royal blue color, but as you practiced, the color of the spell faded with each attempt." He shook his head. "I am not aware of anything that might cause this, so I can't give you any suggestions, but I would suggest that you pay careful attention to the feeling of your magic as you cast, in every class. At the first sign of anything different, please see Madame Pomfrey for an examination."

Harry nodded. "I will do that, Professor. Thank you," and left.

Harry's internal monitor immediately drew his attention to his growing ability to cast more and more spells. _It's not something going_ wrong _. It's something going_ right _. Instead of being able to use more magic, I'm just more efficient at the magic I use_. Pause. _Let's see if Dumbledore is alarmed that his catspaw might be coming down with something_.

That evening, no messages from the staff reached Harry. Dumbledore was either uninformed or unconcerned. _Or maybe he has other things to worry about; like if the Naming Ceremony is actually stealing magic from Muggle-born._

Harry was unconcerned as well. Umbridge, however, was more than concerned with her 'magic – stealing' accusations, and the whole school was watching her get more and more frantic as Harry's interpretations of her theory spread.

-o-

 **Wednesday, February 14, 1996**

At this point, the entire school was buzzing with speculation on if magic was 'stealable' and if so, who had stolen theirs. Those students with average-and-below talent or power were almost all privately convinced that magic wasn't part of their birthright – and most of those were also trying to visibly (and loudly) assert that they were 'true wizards'. Since everyone else was doing the same, nobody was buying it, leading to ever-more frantic boasts and claims.

It cast a pall over the Valentine's Day celebrations, since every girl with the brainpower to breathe unassisted had turned her attentions – and guarded acceptance – solely toward those that were presumed to have magic as a natural talent (i.e., large amounts of power or an innate talent for some specific branch of magic.) It was most apparent in Slytherin House, and from the commotion at breakfast, it seemed that a few family alliances had been cancelled – which was a cruel thing to do to a bloke on Valentine's Day, Harry thought.

The 'sterility wars' were not winding down, either – just going underground. The 'Puffs were all happy, pulling together, and secure in their community defense, but at each of the other tables, males were going nuts. Shields were up at all times, although not necessarily useful, and they constantly flickered as the boys attempted to detect potions in food that was customarily potioned by the Hogwarts kitchens; some general nutritional potions were all that the staff would admit to, but the 'Puffs discovered a low-grade anti-lust potion that was wide-spread, and nobody could deduce a motive outside of the staff.

"Should be obvious," muttered Hermione.

"Huh?" inquired Harry. She turned to him, and he gestured, 'Go on.'

"Oh – it's just that the house elves have to clean up after the students, so they could easily have done it themselves. Keeps the students in line and safe, and reduces the work they have."

Harry's eyes narrowed in thought. And then he grinned. "So think about what kind of person would have set up those love-nests we found in abandoned classrooms …"

Her eyes widened and she shuddered.

-o-

 **Thursday, February 22, 1996**

There hadn't been any magical horseplay in the halls for a week, now. But there was a development in the 'Sterility Wars' – someone (and it was impossible to say who) had left 49 copies of new spells and potions in the library, focused on _female_ fertility, both protective and combative. The war had gone underground, intensified, and now held the possibility of wiping out all of magical humanity within a generation.

Harry felt quite sick to his stomach. The rest of his House felt responsible as well, but none more so than Harry. He did hold out one hope, though; if magic really _was_ stolen, then this would just wipe out the thieves. The gift of magic would still come to selected people, and they might be able to create a better Wizarding World than the one Harry experienced.

He wasn't sure they could make a worse one.

There was another emergency edition of the Quibbler, and it was a rousing success. The two editions in reprint (with blue and pink covers, because the Wizarding world was nothing if not hidebound – and yes, the formal editions _were_ covered in leather) were regularly reissued (well, duplicated) for each new Hogwarts year, and it came to be part of the lore for students; learning to cast (or brew) The Protection became almost a competitive sport.

But for now, there was no way to really tell if the magical families were dying out.

-o-

 **Friday, March 9, 1996**

The inhabitants of the Lair had retreated from the public, and were enjoying a quiet evening trading thoughts and speculations. Hogwarts Castle was a surreptitious war zone, with everyone being treated as a possible threat by everyone else. The rumors had it that the pureblood-faction students were experiencing daily threats against their future children, and there was a contingent of Muggle-born that had no hope of future progeny.

To be fair, though, those Muggle-born were universally obnoxious idiots, and nobody thought that the loss of their children was an injury. Corman McClaggen even treated the public revelation of his sterility as a pick-up line, but it didn't seem to increase his popularity with the ladies any.

But safe in the Lair, Magic House was relaxing in a guaranteed safe environment and … well, it was a bull session. But Harry had twigged to something Hermione had mentioned about his adventures down in the Chamber of Secrets, and sat up from his chair and stared blankly into the fireplace.

"Umm … Harry?" ventured Neville.

Harry held up a hand asking for a pause.

A few breaths later, Harry shook his head and stood. "Neville, come on over here, please?" Harry indicated an open area between the study area and the garden boxes. Neville's expression asked volumes, but he said nothing.

Harry clasped Neville's shoulder. "I need you to take up … both an honor and a burden. I now have a different calling, and I would like you to take my place." Neville's scalp prickled. He met Harry's look with one of his own; Neville knew that this was not a flight of fancy, but a matter of adult honor and commitment. He nodded firmly.

"Hold your right hand – you're right handed? Hold out your right hand as if you're holding a … pole," Harry coached. Neville complied, but his expression was full of doubt. "Now say after me … 'In the name of Gryffindor!'"

Neville's voice was weak and uncertain, but he followed directions.

"No, no," said Harry. "You have to mean it. Close your eyes," he ordered abruptly.

Neville did so.

Harry's voice went soft. "Think about the innocents …" he whispered. "Think about all those that are caught up in this stupid war in the castle, who are going to have to fight in this stupid war with snake-face. They are already dying at the hands of the Death Eaters, they are being burned and poisoned and strangled and tortured. You can stand between them and the evil that is creeping after them, and you can do it …"

Neville's voice was firm, unyielding. "… In the name of Gryffindor!"

Harry moved back quickly. Neville was suddenly holding a large sword, with a green sickly glow to its silvery blade. The hilt was silver as well, and there were egg-sized rubies at the ends of the cross guard and pommel.

Neville glanced up to see where Harry was, then swung the sword out and back. He looked at the blade for a long while, and then muttered, "It shouldn't be me."

Harry head and responded calmly, "This is the role you have grown to play – you are the protector, the one who will stand between the innocent and the onslaught. Because you know the fear that consumes them, you will stand for them in the fight against evil. Do you take this charge of your own free will?"

"Is there no one else?" he whispered.

"You are the best that could be, and we are fortunate that you are here to aid us. Do you accept this charge?" Harry repeated.

Neville stood straighter, and swung the Sword of Gryffindor to rest point down on the floor. His voice was strong, clear, and … very weary as he said, "I accept his charge of my own free will. I pledge my strength and blood, breath and life to defend against evil; to pronounce justice … and mercy." He looked straight at Harry.

"Then you are a better man than I, Neville," Harry said warmly. "I shall only pronounce justice. Any mercy they may receive won't be my own choice." His expression went hard. The others knew that the last few weeks had been hard for Harry, with nightly nightmares of Voldemort's revelries.

Both Hermione and Luna had come closer during their conversation. Luna said, "There really isn't anyone else that can be trusted with this, Neville. It can only be you." Hermione nodded agreement.

Harry said offhandedly, "Um, the sword was submerged in basilisk venom a few years ago – don't slice anything you want to keep." Hermione and Luna took involuntary steps away from the sword, and Neville looked like he wanted to do that as well.

Neville regarded them solemnly, and then looked down at the Sword. "Um, Harry?" Harry looked back at Neville. "How do I get rid of it?"

-o-

 **Thursday, March 15, 1996**

The Double Potions class was … uncomfortable. Snape was still glowering at everyone, and remarkably taciturn, even for him. The instructions on the board were also terse, leading to all the students being extra cautious about their perpetrations and procedures. What really slowed everyone down, though, was Snape's eyes. They burned with pain and hatred, and while few students realized that it was spite for Dumbledore and loathing for himself, _all_ students knew that they didn't want to get involved. Even the Slytherins had become reserved in Snape's presence, so the class was remarkably quiet, and the quality of the potions turned out was at an all-time high … and every student wished that the class could go back to the way it was before.

Harry, Neville, and Hermione were leaving the dungeons after class when Harry was approached by Tracy Davis … acting uncharacteristically nervous. "I … need to speak with you, Harry. Can we meet after lunch? In that room where we met before?"

Harry nodded. "What's the matter? Is everything OK?" He had his reservations, but didn't let them show on his face or in his voice.

She whispered, "Not here," and disappeared down the stairwell that they had just ascended. Harry opened a Door to the Lair, and the three joined Luna in their warm greenhouse hideaway.

Neville looked sidelong at Harry with a fleeting smile. "Um, 'where we met before'? Have you been carrying on a secret romance, Harry? I mean, with the Door, you could easily …" Neville trailed off at Harry's stony expression.

"Miss Davis was Miss Greengrass' backup during her … almost insulting attempt to start a romance with me. Luna was _my_ backup, if you've forgotten." Harry fell silent.

Neville waited for more, but when the silence stretched on, he asked, "So what's the matter?"

Harry shook his head. "I was fairly insulting in return."

Luna nodded in agreement, quite emphatically. "They did deserve it, though. That clumsy offer of romance was so far from cunning, they offered the first insult. Harry merely responded in kind."

Harry went on, "Either Miss Davis is asking to meet us there for an underhanded purpose or … things have gotten so bad in Slytherin that I'm the person they're turning to for help."

Neville's eyes went wide in pretended horror. "That's got to be amazingly bad."

Harry ignored the humor. Hermione joined in, "And since we haven't seen anything in public that would warrant that kind of desperation, that indicates that this is a set up."

Harry said, "Fortunately. If I needed to rescue half of Slytherin from the other half, things would get … messy." The other three of the House of Magic nodded in agreement, and they went off to the noon meal.

Harry spent the meal in silence, wondering if Miss Greengrass' offer was true but clumsy … or if it was merely the opening move in a game he didn't even realize he was playing. If so, it wasn't clumsy … no, he corrected himself, it was _intentionally_ clumsy, which meant … something. He shook his head; he didn't know entirely what it meant, but it partially meant that this plot began before he recognized it did, and that meant … again, he didn't know. _But it's probably not good for me._

He took his final bites of the meal – which really was too good to deserve the inattention he gave it, but … he focused on his next few minutes. _Defense. I just need to be prepared for an attack. Their moves might be planned in advance, but all I need is to defend_. Harry began to breathe a little heavier, and the fingers on his right hand flexed, over and over again.

Hermione, maybe sensing that Harry was done with his frantic thoughts and had settled down, said, "So, what are your advantages?"

Neville promptly answered with, "Harry is the best at DADA in our House."

Luna innocently said, "That's not a high standard to meet." The smile on her face wasn't wholly innocent, though; winding people up seemed to be one of her favorite pastimes.

Neville flushed a little. "I mean, he was in Gryffindor. He is the fastest, and has the most power, of anybody. He _won_ last year!"

Hermione rebutted, "And his speed will … probably … offset their prior preparation in an ambush." Thinking aloud, she went on, "They will recognize his power and counter with … more attackers. What else?"

Luna said, "Harry already knows he's walking into an ambush, and right now he's …" She cocked her head to the side and regarded him appraisingly, "pretty-much wrackspurt free."

Hermione shook her head. "Harry's readiness is offset by the number of opponents he'll be facing. What else?"

Neville was stumped, and said nothing. Luna put in, "He is the soldier of God on the earth. That's got to be worth something!"

Harry gave voice to his cynical side. "That only means that any victories will be God's, not mine … and will likely be posthumous."

Hermione switched rhetorical sides. "On the positive side, Harry has always been able to win, because he doesn't give up, he has an enormous amount of power, and in a crisis, he has an abnormally consistent amount of luck."

Harry sat a little straighter at that reminder; his adventures were always looking hopeless at the start, and he _did_ manage to pull off a win abnormally often (usually because he was willing to absorb a lot of punishment to do so.) He set his shoulders and walked through the Door into the Lair.

"Dobby!"

"Great Master Harry Potter Sir has work for Dobby?"

"Dobby, I need the Marauder's Map."

Pop-pop. "This is what Great Master Harry Potter Sir wants."

Harry took the map, activated it, and laid it on a study table. Hermione, Neville, and Luna crowded around to observe.

Harry silently traced the halls until he was looking at a small gathering of students right outside the Great Hall. Quietly he watched as people left the meal and threaded through the gathering that was fairly stationary. He peered closer to read names, but Luna suddenly brandished her wand and began casting half-spoken charms at the Map. When she said, "House check!" the dots of the students changed color. Following a name he recognized, Harry saw that the Gryffs were gold, moving through a knot of silver and bronze (Slytherin and 'Claws?), while a mass of black dots congregated around the Badger table in the Great Hall.

Figuring out if a dot was gold or bronze wasn't easy – it helped if the dot had others around it for comparison. The mass of students that weren't leaving the hallway in front of the Great Hall were definitely Slytherins, though. Pucey, Malfoy, Nott, Crabbe, Goyle, Parkinson, Davis … it looked like they were all there. _Plus some_. Definitely more than needed to keep Davis safe when he met with her. _Ambush it is._

 _And of course, the best way to defeat an ambush is to walk into it with your eyes open._

Hermione chose this time, naturally, to confess, "Harry, my plan for you to escape the ambush might not … actually … be the best plan," she finished in a rush. "Everything I know about tactics and fighting comes from the fiction books I read, so … it might just be made up by the authors. But," she was quick to add, "most of them agree, so even if it's not strictly true, it's got to be at least a _good_ plan, if it's not the best, right?"

Harry blinked three times. He managed to not even twitch as he resisted the urge to facepalm. "R…Right," he said. "Give me a five count before any of you show up so you can avoid the initial volley. Everybody ready?"

Harry walked over to his Door and waved his hand, and walked through, putting him behind a suit of armor in a niche where he could see most of the Slytherin group.

Harry immediately stepped out so he could cast disabling spells at the Slytherins, but … everything happened at that point. Badly.

Harry's attempt to draw his wand was … comically inept. The Slytherins had turned when they heard him come out from behind the armor, and their wands were already out and tracking; Harry's wand was in his pocket. Harry's panicked grab for his wand caught its tip on his pocket, and the wand was inadvertently flung several feet along the hallway.

The Slytherins did not stop casting spells to laugh at him; within the House of Snakes, belittling laughter was 'in addition to' offensive spells, not 'instead of'. Harry ducked the first spell and yelled, "Stop!" He had no idea why that was the word that came out, but it did.

The results stunned him.

Everything … stopped. The people – all the attackers, and some students leaving the Great Hall and just looking on, were frozen in place … some in midstep and obviously off balance. They weren't falling over, though.

The part that really could freak Harry out (if he let it) was that the spells that were coming his way were _also_ frozen, just hanging in the air. Harry stood in the middle of them, debating if he should poke one with his finger.

"Harry! What happened?" That was Neville, rushing toward him.

"I'm not sure, exactly. But we need to clean this up, somehow."

Neville looked over the students – and spells – with a narrowed eye. "You work on getting the, um, spells taken care of. I'll get some help." He placed a Door on the wall and left in two strides.

Harry watched him go, then turned his attention back to the jest of light that were hanging in the air. Lots of colors, all of them highly dangerous … not a benign spell in the lot. _How do I get rid of them? They happened because … I yelled, "Stop?" Maybe …_

Harry carefully surveyed the quiescent spells, and then stepped to where he wasn't in the path of any of them. He focused on the spells and took a deep breath.

"Harry! What happened?" _Interrupted again?_ Hermione led the other three members of his House out of a Door.

He quickly gave a bare-bones rundown of his actions.

"Hmm." Luna walked over to Pansy Parkinson, who was caught in the act of casting what looked like a choking curse, by the color of it. Luna peered into Pansy's eyes, poked the side of her neck with a stiff finger, and called out, "I think they're still aware. She's still breathing, although shallowly, and can't move her eyes, but I don't think that any of them are unconscious."

Hermione nodded decisively. "Harry can you get rid of the spells?" she gestured at the mass of lights aimed in their general direction. "Then we can start putting the students to rights."

Harry nodded slowly. "Then I'll need you all to move out of the way. I'm not sure what will happen when the curses and jinxes are released." Neville, Luna, and Hermione retreated to a doorway, and Harry looked around to make sure that he was still in a safe zone. He concentrated on the nearest floating bit of magic – something that looked a bit like a placement charm, of all things. Focusing intently, he said, "Be gone!"

The floating bit of light disappeared by fading quickly into nothingness. Harry glanced around, and the other spells had disappeared, too. Just to make sure, he waved a finger through the space it had occupied, and these was nothing – no reaction, no feeling. Harry nodded and called to his housemates, "It's clear." He gave the same order to the rest of the spells in stasis, and they also dissolved into nothingness.

Hermione and Luna came forward, followed by Neville. "What you want to do with them?" Hermione asked, gesturing at the roughly ten students in green and blue trim frozen around them.

Luna piped up brightly, "Can we strip them all naked and stake them out on the front lawn?" Now that she wasn't the constant target that she had been, Luna was displaying some very … aggressive tendencies.

Harry winced, and covered his eyes with his hand. _That would be … bad_.

With an emphatic shake of his head, Harry said, "We're getting distracted. I just want these attackers to forget they ever carried out their plans."

Neville, apparently glad to focus on something else, said, "Can you just … _order_ them to forget?"

Hmm. _Interesting idea_. "I don't know", Harry confessed. "I should try it; Luna, forget about your suggestion for revenge," he ordered.

Luna immediately looked around and said, "I think I missed something." Harry smiled a little, and explained to Luna that she had been his experiment, and what she missed.

"Why did you choose me?" Luna's questions wasn't demanding, just curious.

"Because you told me that you are my friend," he said simply.

"Yes, I did," Luna said with a soft smile. "I'm glad you remembered." She stood on tiptoes to kiss Harry's check. Neville and Hermione exchanged glances that said 'I don't quite get what's going on,' but didn't ask.

Harry turned to survey the students that had gathered to attack him; it looked like Draco was a ringleader, standing with a knot of other boys at a major vantage point, and Tracy Davis was along a wall out of the way of most attacks.

 _She may not like where her choices ended up, but she still made them. She's still responsible._

Harry opened a Door, and shooed his Housemates though. Just before he stepped through, he command, "You will forget that you have been frozen, and you will forget that any House of Magic students were here. You will not remember anything about your aborted attack, either," and Harry stepped through.

 _That's … a useful ability. How did that come up as something I am allowed to do?_

-o-

There were no repercussions of the attack that didn't happen. Nobody noticed, nobody talked. Harry's sleep, though, suffered as he wondered about the limits of what he could do – and the danger of experimenting with those limits.

He remembered a picture of a stained glass window he had seen once in non-magical school when he was about 7 – a large man with wings, in flowing white robe, carrying a sword. He didn't look friendly. Harry didn't want to encounter him … or any of God's other messengers that could make people think that this was an accurate representation.


	26. Justice

**Chapter 26: Justice**

 **Saturday, March 17, 1996**

The Quidditch final held less attraction for Harry than he would have thought – he hadn't been following the House standings – as it was pointless for Magic House, and he didn't even attend half the games this year. Neville was proving fairly indifferent to the lure of the sport as well, just like the girls were. But they couldn't escape the excitement in the school about the final game of Quidditch for the year: Slytherin vs Ravenclaw, and Ravenclaw needed to win by 30 points to win the House Cup … so the game would be hotly contested.

But the members of Magic House were indifferent, one and all.

Until Dobby and Winky both popped into the Lair with fierce expressions. "Great Master Harry Potter Sir, Dementees is coming across Hoggywarts lawn and is going to attack students!"

Harry blinked, then stood abruptly. "Neville, we need to be out there!"

"Right," was all Harry got in reply. Both had their wands out and were running for the Doors that had appeared on the north wall.

Harry emerged from his Door at the base of the quidditch stands, joining Neville who was already there. Harry and Neville were both horrified at the mass of dementors that were gliding across the pitch, cold crystals marking their passage across the field. Neville brandished his wand and shouted "Expecto Patronum!", even though he had never achieved a substantial shield in their practice sessions.

Harry squinted through his glasses; the horde of dementors had gotten close enough for them to begin to feel apathy and laziness – the next step would be paralyzing fear, and then the memories would surface again.

While it was nice to be able to remember his parents, Harry had quite enough of _that_ particular memory. He winced a bit inside. The attacking swarm was strung out all along the pitch, and Harry was sure that his patronus would not be able to affect even half that distance.

 _Maybe only a quarter._

 _Or less._

He tried anyway. "Expecto Patronum!" was his cry, and Prongs galloped out of his wand fully formed, eight feet high (and more, with the antlers), and immediately turned to face the dementors. The quidditch game had ended without a final score, the players fleeing to the stands, and the spectators were trying to flee. In a few cases, a vaporous patronus came winging through the air to attack the dementors, but there were simply too many of foul creatures. Like the rest, Prongs was swarmed by the dementors rather than the other way 'round, and Harry's patronus vanished before it had turned away even one of Voldemort's allies.

 _This will not end well._

Harry forced his legs, numb with fear, to carry him a few steps forward. _God, I am going to put myself in between the innocent and the evil. You have implied that you will support me in my desires to do Your will, and as best as I can see, this is the right thing to do. If there is a price to be paid for your support, I commit to paying it, because I know that what you ask will be appropriate and right._

All Harry could think of to do is to cast Prongs again … and his thoughts became distracted. _Expecto. 'I expect.' An expression of … faith._

 _Patronum. Patron. Pater. The protection of … our Father. Not just my Dad, not James, but … Him._

Harry centered himself, gathering serenity and certainty. He knew what he needed to do now, he knew how this was supposed to work.

There was still a little gibbering core of fear in his head, telling him that even if he knew how this was supposed to work, it would help if he knew how this was supposed to end, and if God was thinking along the same lines. _Because if He doesn't, this is going to be really … unpleasant_.

Banishing that doubtful voice in his head, Harry whispered with fierce determination, "Expecto Patronum!"

And nothing came out of his wand.

Instead, his vision sharpened. He could see by a piercing, soft light – the same light that had accompanied the Servant when he had been in the ritual circle – and there were no shadows anywhere. And anything he could see, he could see in complete clarity, even when the distance was great.

Across the width of the pitch, and getting closer, Harry could see the robes of the dementors. He immediately recoiled as the complete understanding of that nasty filth impacted his mind. "Stop!" he murmured, and as before, the entire field froze in immobility.

He hadn't meant to do that, but … it was something he should be grateful for.

Harry reached out to touch Neville, and ended Nev's frozen pose. He nodded toward the dementors, indicating his destination. Neville, perhaps also sensing the moment called for silence, nodded instead of speaking. Harry began to move closer toward the horde, and in the corner of his eye he could see Neville reach out to the air and grasp something long and shiny.

As Harry moved closer to the dementors, he kept his gaze from settling long enough on their figures to start comprehending their … wrongness. His stomach roiled; this was wildly outside of what he knew how to do, and he was so far away from 'normal' that he wasn't even winging it. Moment-by-moment, Harry was not even aware of what his actions were building towards.

He was able to see that the light – perhaps he should call it Light – that illuminated his gaze was actually streaming from … himself. He could see that it hit the dark robes of the vile creatures and move them – degrade them – and it pushed the dementors themselves backwards in their frozen stasis.

Finally close enough to the frozen dementors to speak, Harry said to them, "You are perversions of the Creator God's intent, and have no place in His dominion. Begone now and face His justice later, or you will all face His justice now. But you will not escape His justice." Harry looked among them for some kind of leader, a figure to address, and finally saw one that was a bit taller, almost concealed at the back of the mob. Harry pointed and crooked his finger. "Come."

The mass of evil figures parted as the taller dementor glided forward. The movement apparently broke all the paralysis that Harry had imposed, and it began making a horrible noise that attacked both Harry's ears and heart. Its screeching modulated into words, "We shall feed." It was a simple statement of implacable desire.

Harry was not allowing any of it. "No." His statement was absolute, and rocked the assembled dementors. They apparently didn't know how to deal with opponents that were unaffected by their aura, and the imposition of authority over them was so alien to them that they simply ignored it.

Harry continued, "The justice of the Creator God in whose authority you dwell shall be imposed upon you this day. You are a twisted mockery of His power and His purpose. You shall begone from before his face." As Harry expelled his breath, the dementors rippled and vanished. The frost that had marked their passage across the pitch glinted in the sunlight that now lifted the spirits of the Hogwarts contingent – somewhat. Because behind the now-vanished dementors was revealed a smaller mass of opponents – Death Eaters, led by their mutilated master.

Riddle was frozen in at act of attacking, his wand almost behind his head as he was gesturing to release some magic on the Hogwarts students. _And without Harry's release_ , Riddle slowly straightened up and faced the two Magic students. There were a few muffled screams heard from the spectator stands; they all seemed to have been released from their immobility.

"You have become … a worthy opponent, Potter," Riddle said in his hissing tone. "But I have knowledge you never found and power you cast away. I cannot fail against you, nor can I fail against all of Wizard kind. You have somehow become a Patronus. You have banished the world's dementors …"

 _Really? That was all of them? Huh_.

"But I have seen your grasp at power and have found more power than you can possibly imagine!" continued the snake-like man, and he waved his wand at the empty space behind himself. A rippling indicated the dispelling of a disillusionment, showing a mass of … something.

A horrible something.

The writhing mass would not stop moving enough to make out how many things were there, or just what those things were. Harry's mind rebelled. These were dark and menacing forms that had an aura that a patronus could never counter; it was of this world and they – these things, or perhaps this _thing_ – was not.

And the hunger it carried was a palpable force that made all assembled weak with fear. Well, maybe not the Death Eaters. They seemed to be used to it. Harry felt a thought in the back of his head.

"… _the angels of Heaven stand ready to assist you in your righteous choices …"_

 _Ah._

"Lord God of Heaven, I ask for the angels you have promised to assist me!" Harry called out. With no fanfare, no visible magic, the area around Neville and Harry became crowded. Although honestly, the presence of just one of these assistants would have given off the same feeling.

They all seemed least ten feet tall, so Harry had no idea how many there were; he just knew that these men blotted out an awfully lot of the horizon. Dressed in white sleeveless robes showing heavily muscled arms, wings of white feathers peeking over their impossibly high shoulders, and a gleaming metal sword unsheathed in a hand. One of them – the shortest, at about 8 feet tall and almost as wide across the shoulders, strode forward and knelt in front of Harry.

"What would you have us do?" The voice was deep and thrummed in Harry's chest in an authoritative way. The bundle of keys at the angel's waist clinked faintly. The sword the angel carried was brightly polished, but showed deep scratches, and was point down in the earth, with the cross guard above Harry's eye level. The total effect was of an adult kneeling down to speak privately to a small child, and Harry certainly felt the part. On the plus side, the feelings of despair that had come from the unearthly eldritch horror were completely gone within the area the angels claimed as their own.

In his head, Harry was panicked that these … beings … were asking for his direction. He hoped his panic was controlled enough not to show on his face. "I was promised assistance in my righteous actions." He gestured to the abomination(s) that was there in support of Snake-face. "That is something I don't think that I can handle on my own. Is this something that falls within what you can do?" Instead, the panic came out in his voice. He tried to keep his wince on the inside, too.

The angel smiled, and it was sharp, and fierce, but the part that was directed at Harry was also kind. Somewhat reassuring, in fact. _But only somewhat_. "Your authority is limited. But within that sphere, it is unbounded. Should you command, we can dispense Justice. Should you command, we will show Mercy. You are a son of God, and have been given command." He paused. "Command us."

In the back of his mind, Harry's little connection with Heaven was working overtime. He spoke confidently, "Protect the children of God, and all of His creation as you are able." With a shake of his head Harry continued, "And I will do the work I've been given to do."

A nod was all he received in reply, but Harry took it as heartening. The angels moved to create a circle facing outward around Harry and Neville, and Harry found that there were two others protected; Luna and Hermione.

"How did you two get here?"

"Same as you. But our fairie holes go where we want them to," observed Luna. She was airy and unconcerned as always, but Harry could see that her eyes were sharper then he had ever seen them. Hermione was a bit tense, looking around to spot threats (and the angels registered pretty high on that scale), but was trying to at least _act_ calm and controlled.

Harry gestured to include all his house-mates. "Please stay here for the moment. Apparently," he glanced at the shortest angel, "there's something I have to attend to."

Hermione drew in a breath, probably preparatory to peppering him with questions, but he raised his left hand. "This is not the time, please." He turned and walked out of the protective circle, with the angel at his right keeping pace with him.

Harry's path took him around the edge of the cluster of Death Eaters. They were in a defensive circle, wands out, milling around their master. As the two reached their closest approach to his human opponents, the angel's sword flicked out and stopped a Death Eater by pricking him in the center of his throat.

"I wonder," mused the angel, "if you are redeemable, Walden McNair?"

McNair froze, careful not to move closer to the gleaming sword, an provided a fierce expression and a wordless growl as his answer. _So, probably not_. The angel withdrew the sword and they continued on toward the nameless horror. Behind them, McNair muttered something barely at the edge of Harry's hearing. The angel casually swung his sword over his shoulder, reflecting McNair's spell directly back at him.

McNair's death was messy. And wide. No other spells were fired as the duo headed toward the evil from among the stars.

While the distance to travel was finite, to Harry, it felt that it took forever. Each step was harder than the one before, taking more effort to force to completion. The … thing … was probably black, but it was difficult to tell as each limb and body art was shrouded in an inky shadow that obscured. It also revealed much – that the being was an evil from not-around-here, primarily. And did those waving limbs just pass _through_ each other?

Harry stopped at the edge of the thing's influence, where the light noticeably decreased around it. Only the presence of the angel at his side gave Harry some measure of protection from the fear that it generated, but as Harry drew closer to it, he could feel the terror pooling in his gut. Harry centered himself and raised his hand, palm up, to face the creature. "Begone from before the face of God. In my authority to pronounce the justice of the Creator God, I decree that none shall set foot upon this world except those that belong here. Any that violate this decree shall be removed from the dominion of the Lord, which includes all His creation."

With no fanfare, there was a ripple in the world, centered on the shadowed being, and when the ripple was gone, so was the offender. Harry was mildly surprised that it was so … easy.

"You have accepted the commission of the Lord God, to do His work and speak His words. Did you think that you would also have to enforce them?" murmured the angel at his side.

 _Right. I've traded immediate effort for the work of being righteous for the next 150 years_. The two figures, center of all the attention on the field, turned back to the defending Death Eaters. Harry was certain that they was back was much shorter than the walk out had been.

"Tom Riddle," Harry called, "you are now called to face justice for the sins of your life." Harry gestured to Tom, and he was unwillingly pulled to the front of his followers. Harry also turned to see his friends, and was a bit surprised to find that they and their angelic escort were only a few moments behind him. Hermione, Luna, and Neville took up stations behind him, with the protective angels in a semi-circle protecting the four. Harry's angelic escort moved aside to that Hermione could stand at his right hand.

Harry went on. He gathered his composure; giving justice for heinous acts was in itself unpleasant.

"You have scorned all the gifts of your creator; life, magic, and soul." Harry paused. "And so those gifts will be reclaimed by the One that gave them into your care. You magic is forfeit." The body of Riddle collapsed, leaving a mess on the ground at the feet of a shade – more substantial and colorful than the Hogwarts ghosts, less reptilian than the body he had been inhabiting. "Your life is forfeit." The body on the ground dissolved into a mist that quickly dissipated, leaving some bones and a puddle of blood pooling around the infamous wand. "And your soul shall be … unmade. The death you fear shall not come to you – instead you will receive the eternal nothingness of nonbeing." The eyes of the shade widened, but before any response could be made, the shade rippled in the air, and vanished.

Harry raised his voice. "This is the justice of the Creator God upon the crimes of Tom Riddle." He looked around at Tom's followers, all frozen. As he watched, a large number of them sagged in their imprisonment, expressions of pain trying to show on their features. Apparently, with the extinction of their master, his abeyance of their immobility was removed as well.

Harry gestured, and all the masked Death Eaters slid across the Qudditch pitch to be arranged before him in a semi-circle. There were about 25 of them, and as they were moved, their masks fell and were left behind. They were revealed to be primarily younger sons of prominent pure-blood families, with the white-blond hair of Lucius Malfoy in their midst. The longer hair of Bellatrix Lestrange was in the back – she seemed to be furious and fighting the paralysis long after the others had given up. They were all making various whining noises from the back of their throats, that being the only part of their bodies they had under their control at the moment.

Harry regarded them for a moment, no expression evident on his young face. Some of the whining intensified. Then he spoke. "You are all guilty of most of Tom Riddle's sins. You have killed, tortured, and misused the gifts that God has placed in your care. And the Dark Mark that binds you to the will of Tom Riddle is sealed by your own magic so that you cannot escape it even though he is no more."

Most of the Death Eaters showed a frenzied look in their eyes (Bellatrix's already frenzied expression intensified.) Apparently the pain was mounting, and they knew that it would never cease.

Harry let them appreciate their current circumstances in silence for several heartbeats. Then, "There is much you can do to support the magical world. So at the command of the God you have scorned and thought to command," Harry clenched his fist in the air before them, and then threw what was in his grasp to the ground, "you are set free from the chains you have willingly forged."

Harry wasn't done. "But mark you!" he commanded. "Should you ever again break the law – the law of Man **or** the law of God – you shall be judged of all your sins in that moment, from the fresh sins of that day, to the judgement that is held in abeyance by the mercy of your God."

Harry's voice dropped to a whisper, but was still heard by all students and adults on Hogwarts grounds. "Do not make me notice you again."

Bellatrix was still frozen, and still in pain – she had not been set free with the others, and the Death Eaters edged away from her as they noticed that she was still bound. Harry made a smaller, flicking movement with his hand, and Bella erupted as she found her voice.

"You set them free and keep me bound? You know who to be afraid of, Potter! I demand the same mercy!"

Harry impassively regarded the woman, still struggling in her locked position. "Yes, I do know who to fear – and right now, it isn't you. It never will be again." He took a little longer to organize his thoughts and to receive the instruction he desired. "You are not a candidate for mercy, Bellatrix. Justice is a given, and everyone, righteous and wicked alike, will receive the rewards their actions demand, whether in this life or the life to come. But mercy is a gift that can only be extended to those that have faced justice, and it can only be given as a gift – if you _deserved_ mercy, then it would be justice, and inevitable. It is not something you can demand. But because you have truly desired the evil you have done, I am instructed that you will receive no gifts."

Her face contorted to rage. "This isn't justice! This is …"

Harry cut her off with a simple question. "What could be more _just_ than experiencing the results of your own actions?" She was silenced at a thought by Harry.

Harry turned and walked toward the stands filled with students, frozen as statues by the same command that had snared the offenders, his back to the men that had threatened everyone. Five steps later, an ear-splitting crack accompanied an overbearing white light that speared out of the sky. Harry turned back around to see the smoking corpse of some Death Eater drop to the soil, smoking and charred, completely unrecognizeable. The thunder promptly followed, and deafened the assembled crowd as it rolled across them.

Harry shook his head. "Do not believe that your vaunted cunning can outwit your Maker, who knows every thought of your hearts. You have been given this one chance. Ignore it, and you, too, can receive your eternal punishment in your next breath." Everyone heard that, too.

Neville, in the background behind Harry, startled everyone when he moved around Harry to approach the Lady Lestrange, who was writhing in her pain. His voice, too, was heard throughout the pitch. "Your punishment is decreed by God, and I will not attempt to remove it. But I can offer mercy, of a sort." He held out the sword in his hand so that the tip was within her reach. "If you choose to spill a drop of your blood with this blade, your pain will have a faster end than otherwise." Neville's voice was flat, without inflection, and did not reveal if he wanted Bellatrix Lestrange to take advantage of his offer.

Bella sneered, "Do you not have the strength to make your own vengeance?"

Neville said simply, "I have enough strength to not take vengeance. Will you accept this mercy?" The sword blade in the air was rock steady.

The sneer and contempt didn't leave her face, but Bella slowly reached out and ran a tip of her finger along the edge of Gryffindor's Sword. The pain obviously increased, but she didn't cry out, holding still as a spider web of black traceries moved up her arm, extending the interlacing threads under the robes over her arms. She stilled, and sank back into the support of the paralysis spell, slowly sinking as her breath stilled and grew faint.

Harry and Neville turned at the same time, exchanging glances as they turned away from the Death Eaters on parole.

 _It needed to be done._

 _I know. I wish you didn't have to be the one who made it happen._

Shoving her way through the mass of students was a pink-clad bundle of self-importance and officiousness. "Mr. Potter! You are under arrest for the murder of Mr. Augustus Rookwood!" She called over her shoulder for Aurours. _Is that who that was?_

Harry shook his head at her obtuseness. "I have been assigned by God Almighty to pronounce His judgement, so my authority is not subject to the whims of the corrupt Ministry you serve. I have not been released from my assignment, so I may not rest until the Words of God have been delivered and fulfilled." After a pause, Harry added, "And I did nothing to Mr. Rookwood. I have no idea what he did to earn the judgement of God."

Delores Umbridge took a breath, in the posture of someone who is going to shout. Harry pointed his finger at her, and she froze. Some students near to her winced. "Delores Umbridge, you have throughout your life, chosen smallness over greatness, ugliness over beauty, and power over virtue; your near complete rejection of the gifts God has gifted you is an affront to your Creator. The Lord God …" Harry trailed off and all those present focused their attention on what was coming next. "… has decreed that you be given another chance. But this time, the ability to choose some of your sins will be denied to you."

Harry strode a few paces forward and placed his right hand on her head. "In the name of the God you owe everything to, and the Lord you have ignored, you are given the chance He desires. If you follow Him faithfully, all you have lost will be restored, and your reward shall be as great as if you have never sinned."

His hand dropped to his side, and Umbridge … shrank in upon herself. Those close to her backed away, and as more people were able to see her, they, too, joined those retreating from the sight. Her features and girth softened, melting back into the features Umbridge had sported at a young girl. She looked at her hands, turning them back and forth, demanding, "Get me a mirror! How old am I now?" and then without pause while she looked up, "Where am I? What is …"

The young girl that was once the terror of the school was leaning into a wind that affected only her, and was pushing her away from the castle. Harry told her in a flat tone, "You are a Muggle on the grounds of Hogwarts. The wards will not allow you to stay." He shrugged, and his following words were less implacable but even more judgmental. "Your gift of magic was not properly yours to begin with. You shall live according to the will of your Creator. If you choose humility, you might live long enough to draw breath." His expression made his unspoken follow-up plain: _but I'm not betting on it_.

Silently, the students and staff parted to watch the young Delores reluctantly, step by step, move toward the edge of the Hogwarts grounds. Her eyes were wild, and she was screaming _something_ , but no one could hear her panicked words.


	27. Fidelity

**Chapter 27: Fidelity**

 **Sunday, March 18, 1996**

The evening – and night – had passed quietly, with the students trying to understand what had happened. Rumors were rife, and understanding was sparse, with the professors unable, or perhaps unwilling, to explain to their charges. Harry didn't help matters by confining himself to the Lair, refusing the summons that kept pouring in through the house elves. Professor Burbage gave up passing along the Headmaster's quite early, and had retired to a couch in the Lair, herself.

Dobby had briefly conferred with Winky and they had set up a buffet for the Magic House; finger food, a bit of bread and cheese, some simple slices of cold meats. The Lair was quiet; none of the students seemed inclined toward discussing what they had just gone though, and Prof. Babbling didn't press them. She came and went from the Liar as she did whatever unknowable professor stuff she had to attend to.

Finally, she approached Harry. "The Headmaster insists on speaking with you. If you put him off much longer, he will come and get you."

Harry stopped contemplating the horizon with a wry smile. "That would not turn out as well for him as he imagines."

Prof. Burbage gently smiled in return. "Then you should probably make an effort to meet him before that happens." She walked out of Harry's line of vision.

Harry silently thought about this. Did he really want to deal with Dumbledore? Definitely not. Did he think he would have to deal with Dumbledore at some point? Most likely. So … what should he do?

Eventually, Harry stood. He found Neville quietly working on the plants at the Lair potting bench. Neville was working on large pots with small trees, under the theory that if they could be made to grow, perhaps he could create a small fairie garden. Luna was all in favor, and was right by Neville's side in choosing the habitat and adjusting their composition. Hermione was desultorily looking through books at the bookcases, but unlike her normal behavior, wasn't actually taking books down from the shelves.

"Hermione, would you be willing to be my backup with Dumbledore?"

She looked a little startled as audible speech dragged her out of whatever reverie she was in. "Okay … do you have any idea what he wants to talk about?"

Harry sighed. It was painfully obvious to _him_ what this was about. "I believe that Dumbledore wants to coerce me into supporting him. He hasn't figured out yet that I work for someone else, now."

Hermione gave a small smile. Harry turned to the empty floor between couches in the Lair. "Dobby, please tell the Headmaster that I will meet with him in ten minutes in our last meeting place."

"Where was that, Harry?"

"Our old Lair. I'm going to let him get there himself, this time. And we'll see if he has come to any realization of what's really going on." Harry added, "I'm going to change what I'm wearing. I'll be back in time to open the Door." Hermione nodded, and Harry went to his dorm. He changed into the white, all natural outfit that he had worn for the rituals, and transfigured a bundle of old quills into a staff long enough to support his weight. _It just seems appropriate_.

He went back to the Lair and Hermione imperfectly concealed a smile when she saw him. "Put up your hood, Harry," she suggested. "It really would complete the look." She had a smile that wasn't quite innocent, and Harry was sure that she was laughing at him. Some things can't be shielded by the protective hand of God, and a young man's pride is one of them.

Harry tried to ignore that part of him that was hurt by her concealed laughter – he was pretty sure that he wasn't supposed to be able to tell why she was amused, and he didn't want to give his insights away. "Doesn't have one," he mumbled.

Hermione raised her wand, probably to create one, but Harry stopped her with a look. "There is no magic on this cloth," he explained. "I'd like to keep it that way. This is what I wore for the ritual that …" Harry was at a loss for words to describe what had truly happened, but Hermione understood anyway.

Her eyes widened and she lowered her wand. "I'm glad you told me. I don't want to ruin them," she said simply. Harry nodded and raised his Door. "Shall we go?"

Hermione nodded and walked through Harry's Door with him at her heels. They were met by Dumbledore in their Lair, who was being overseen by Prof. Burbage. She was sitting against the wall (which was reassuringly unpatterned, and a nice, soothing shade of blue.) Dumbledore was alone, and he didn't give any overt reaction to seeing Harry out of his school uniform.

"Headmaster Dumbledore, you know that one of the conditions you agreed to so that you could have our cooperation for meetings is that you have a neutral observer of your choice accompany you to all student meetings with anyone from Magic House. You have not filled your agreement, Headmaster. Where is your observer?" Hermione was implacable. Harry could tell that she wasn't going to give up on this point, probably as a way to begin haranguing the Headmaster about his duties to keep the students safe.

Dumbledore genially stated, "I have not found a staff member that is free at this time, and we urgently need to …"

Harry was right. Hermione overrode him in mid-sentence, saying, "Where is your observer, Headmaster?"

"Miss Granger, time is of the essence, and we simply do not …"

Again, "Where is your observer, Headmaster?"

Harry could tell that this was going to go on for a long time. He interrupted the combatants with, "I have a way to end this impasse, I believe. May I?" he asked Hermione.

She sat back in her chair and huffed, "Fine." _Obviously unwilling, but good enough_.

"Headmaster?"

Harry couldn't believe his luck. Dumbledore responded, "You may do whatever you need to so that we can move this discussion along, Harry."

Harry blinked. "Well then …" He aimed his forefinger at Dumbledore and snapped, " _Speak truth_! When Hermione was dosed with a love potion, were you aware that this occurred?"

Dumbledore hesitated, and Harry wasn't about to let him get away with any kind of deception. " _Answer the question_!" Harry snapped again.

Dumbledore promptly answered, "I was immediately aware when the potion was administered."

"And why did you not correct this illegal potions abuse?"

Dumbledore said nothing.

Harry was irritated by Dumbledore's refusal to come clean. " _Answer my question_!"

"Any separation between Miss Granger and yourself would help me to keep you under control and to guide you to your prophesied destiny." _Hmm. Probably a resolution to that old prophecy that he cooked up to advance his interests. Well, it's over now._

The smug self-assurance in the Headmaster's voice made Harry suddenly decide to attack this from another angle – and he wasn't above bending his authority for it. "How many times in the past year did staff or students complain about harassment because of pureblood beliefs?"

Dumbledore looked blankly at him. Harry tried again. " _Answer the question with the truth!_ How many times did it some to your attention – in the past school year – that students were being harassed because of their blood status?"

Obviously unwillingly, Dumbledore's answer was squeezed out between teeth locked closed. "More than three times each week."

Hermione's cold voice summarized the Headmaster's two answers. "So your idea of resolving systematic harassment doesn't include protecting your students or preventing what was happening." She thought briefly for a moment before continuing, "You were clearly going easy on the bigots. Do you support them?"

Dumbledore was quiet. Harry had a brief thought that perhaps the old man was rethinking his decision to face questioning. The two students waited for him to speak.

It wasn't happening. Harry decided to force the issue. " _From now until I give you leave, you will answer all questions with a complete answer, with no attempts to deceive_ ," he ordered. "Do you support the blood bigots?" Harry's voice when giving orders – that the Headmaster apparently had to obey – was a deeper pitch than normal, and had a strange accent. Harry had no idea where it came from, and wasn't about to ask. For now, at least.

Still the students waited. Hermione decided to get the ball rolling. "Do – you – support – blood – bigotry?"

Dumbledore promptly answered, "While their actions are regrettable, the old families are the source of stability for the Wizarding World. They must be preserved so that our society can maintain power and security."

Hermione seemed shocked by that. Harry murmured to her, "It's just an erroneous belief, not verifiable fact." She lost her outrage upon hearing that.

"Thanks, Harry," she murmured back.

Harry raised his voice to be heard by Dumbledore. "I could just leave you unable to deceive, and I'm sure that your political stock would be permanently destroyed." Dumbledore seemed to agree, judging by the look on his face. "Along, of course, with all of your causes. But instead, I'm going to destroy all you fought for in a different way." Harry stood up at the table, and motioned for Hermione to join him.

Dumbledore said, "You seem to have forgotten your promised release." He was basically begging for his ability to lie.

Harry and Hermione were a few steps away from their meeting table, and Harry turned to look back at him. "I could just let the truth destroy your reputation and the causes you champion. But I'm going to destroy them in another way. You, however …" Harry smiled, "are the one who is going to destroy your reputation. I'm still going to let you be a beacon of truth in a wicked, wicked world. You failed to understand, Albus – I dressed in these robes because I am representing the courts of Heaven. Today, you have been judged, and found … deficient."

Harry walked through the Door slightly ahead of Hermione, leaving Dumbledore's hissed growl behind them.

-o-

 **Monday,** **March 18, 1996**

Harry stood on a low platform in the Ministry of Magic atrium. He was faced with a small horde of politicians, curious rubberneckers, and reporters. All of his Housemates offered to accompany him, but he turned them all down. "There's going to be a lot of angry people after I get done talking; I don't want any of you to be associated with it."

One again, Harry was dressed in his white outfit, with a staff in his hand. Harry had no idea what he would use it for, but … he had decided to follow all his impulses. If he left one undone, it might have been directions from God. And this one didn't hurt, he figured.

Harry began in a loud voice, "This past Saturday, during his attack on the students of Hogwarts, Lord Voldemort was permanently destroyed."

He had to pause at the cheers that rang out – and the gasps that Harry had dared say the forbidden name.

He continued after a decent pause, again in a loud voice, "Bellatrix Lestrange, Augustus Rookwood, and Walden McNair all committed suicide during the event, and Delores Umbridge lost her magic. Her compensation of being returned to the age of 16 may not seem enough to some of you, but it is what she received." There was a hubbub in the crowd that necessitated another pause. Eventually, Harry was able to continue, "The consequences of this attack, and the eventual fate of Voldemort's supporters, are these …"

The entire crowd was abruptly silent; most had heard the rampaging gossip as well as read the somewhat inaccurate articles in the _Daily Prophet_. "The marked supporters of Voldemort are under divine parole – should they fail to keep the law, whether divine or magical, they will instantly receive divine punishment. This is what befell, and was the cause of death of, Mr. Rookwood." The sound of excited murmuring swelled through the crowd.

"And there is one more consequence that has yet to be made public." All sound disappeared. "From this date onward, throughout the entire world, the Naming Ritual will not be completed. This is not a legal command. This is a notice that the magic that was evoked by this ritual will no longer happen."

A reporter familiar to Harry spoke up from the front of the mob. "Who are you to make such demands of the Wizarding World?"

Harry showed a small, faint smile. "Nothing I have Stated is a demand; these are simply notifications of how magic will respond in the future, and how actions have played out in the past. Ms. Skeeter, I am apparently the only person that actually asked the Courts of Heaven for justice. And I was granted it, in part, because _I_ can be trusted by God to speak the actual truth." He smiled a bit wider. "Let me share this with you."

Harry levelled his right forefinger at Rita and intoned, " _You shall never deceive again_."

There was no bolt of magic, no external sign that anything had changed – until Rita opened her mouth to speak. "I completely deserved that, and I attest that Harry Potter is the spokesman for God." By the expression on her face, this was very far from what she intended to say.

She confirmed that with her next utterance. "I didn't want to say _that_! What did you do to me?"

"I put you under a divine command to be completely honest in all ways that you communicate. You will want to report exactly what happened to you and how your style changed – because, of course," Harry's smile grew slightly unforgiving, "should you not do that, you will be deceiving people that believe that you still stand by and endorse your previous words."

Again, obviously against her will, Skeeter promptly strode out of the Atrium, not letting anyone waylay her from her march.

Harry publically mused, "She should probably be told that Mr. Dumbledore is also under the same restriction, and that she could still interview him in her current state." There was a hushed murmur at that, but nobody seemed to be in a hurry to tell Skeeter that her career wasn't quite over.

"Are there any other questions?"

Cornelius Fudge was braver – or more dim-witted – than most. "Mr. Potter, could you please reassure the public that the Ministry is protecting them and they have nothing to fear?"

In the clear hearing of the reporters, Harry said, "The only reason that the public have nothing to fear is that I removed Voldemort from mortal life last Saturday. The Ministry has only offered lies and misdirection for their safety." A few people might have been able to make out the slightly vindictive smile that Harry sported for a moment, but the impact of his words drew their attention away from telling little details like that.

Harry said, "I am quite unhappy with the Wizarding world. In the depths of my despair, I approached the Courts of Heaven for an end to my pain. I was given the authority to pronounce justice." Harry paused for people to understand precisely what he was telling them and then ended with, "Mercy has never been demonstrated, explained, or taught to me in any other way. Expecting me to provide it will be a fool's hope."

Harry turned away from the mass of wizards and Witches, all uniformly feeling quite hopeless. A Door opened in the wall and he strode though without a backward glance.

-o-

 **Monday, June 11, 1996**

The remainder of the school year was very quiet. Dumbledore had stopped making public appearances, and had formally relinquished the Chief Warlock and Head Mugwump positions. Harry privately bet his housemates that 'relinquish' was a polite euphemism for 'cooperated with being fired'. Luna had agreed with him, and the other two weren't going to bet against them.

Severus Snape was just as bitter and vindictive as ever, but the targets of his ire had shifted to be the other staff members. Students were a little lost as Snape passed up opportunity upon opportunity to belittle them, and his comments in the classroom were actually marginally helpful instead. Several students began publically trashing other teachers the way they had attacked and complained about Snape, but when they tried to verbally bully Prof. Burbage, she had cocked her head to the side and asked, "Who are the members of Magic House?"

That put an end to the verbal harassment really quick – as soon as the quick students realized that more talk might attract the attention of Mr. Potter, and as soon as it was explained to them, for the slower ones.

The _Daily Prophet_ had run several articles – a series that ran for a few weeks, actually – about the revelation that the Naming Ceremony transferred the gift of magic from Muggleborn. The coverage was respectful and evenhanded, and nobody's opinions were made out to be anything but what they said they were. Many people came to the conclusion that Rita Skeeter had more of an impact on the editorial policies of the _Prophet_ that anyone had previously known. The Wizarding community had hastily realized that the social order that they had enjoyed for about a millennium was gone, and that the family structure they were based upon was … well and truly smashed to pieces.

Naturally, panic ensued, but oddly enough, the newspaper wasn't caught up in it. The Ministry had gone through their own upheaval, tossing Fudge and appointing Tiberius Ogden in his place. Outside of the Ministry, there were more than a few traditionalists that were all in favor of abducting Harry to force him to return the Naming Ceremony to full function. Fortunately, they realized that they really had no way to force the Wizard of Justice to do their bidding, and the plan was shelved.

The day afterwards, the conspirator that had shut down the plans received an owl note that read,

 _Good choice._

 _Harry Potter_

Closer to home, the students of Hogwarts were relieved that they only saw Mr. Potter during classes; never between classes, and never at mealtimes. There were very few that wanted to speak with him; the vast majority felt that encountering Mr. Potter would be extremely … bad luck.

-o-

 **Monday, June 25, 1996**

OWLs were a bit anticlimactic for Harry.

Transfiguration: Harry politely asked the pincushion to turn into a hedgehog. It did. The stunned proctor waved him away. _Full marks, probably._

DADA: "How did you defeat the Dark Lord?" This proctor was obviously a blood purist, and a bit miffed that his opinions were on the wane again. Harry looked him confidently in the eyes and said, "I ordered him in the name of God to submit to justice. Justice was carried out. Would you like to see how this was done?" The proctor almost wet himself assuring Harry that a demonstration wasn't necessary.

Charms: The proctor was puzzled at Harry's spells having no color and being almost completely invisible. When he summarily announced that Harry had failed, Harry silently (and colorlessly) stuck him to the ceiling with his wand hovering just out of his reach. Harry regarded him without expression until his invective had ceased, and only let him down when he promised to give Harry a high grade. Harry refused to release him until he vowed to give Harry a _fair_ grade.

Astronomy: When asked to locate the constellation Lyra, Harry seemingly (and with his wand in his pocket) summoned the stars from the night sky to hover in his hand. His examiner asked how he created the illusion, Harry replied, "My Master is the creator of Heaven and Earth. He deals in truth. I am not allowed to deal in … artifice." The color drained from the Wizard, and he hastily wrote a series of "O"s on Harry's examination papers.

Potions: The assigned positon was completed by Harry in half the time with two less ingredients; the other students just disregarded his progress and refused to attend to his 'improvements'. For them, it was a commonplace event. The proctors, on the other hand, were frantically taking notes, and their muttered comments to each other revealed that Harry had inadvertently recreated a long lost recipe. The proctors had a dilemma; as Mr. Potter had not followed the stated recipe, was he to fail the examination, or was he to be given full marks for the superior understanding of potion brewing that he demonstrated?

Care of Magical Creatures: All the creatures that had been procured for the practical testing raced toward Harry, surrounding him in a peaceful mosh pit, as it were. This puzzled the examiners, as several of the creatures were natural enemies. When asked, Harry just shrugged. "I don't enjoy fighting," he explained.

Divination: The witch that had snidely asked Harry for a prophecy was rather started when he looked her straight in the eye and announced, "You will give me a fair grade." She found that she had already marked his examination slip before she regained her self-possession, and was going to protest, but his air of command quelled her objection.

After the exams were over for the fifth years, they had a few days before the train went back to King's Cross. The universal greeting between fifth years – and seventh years, but none of them were talking to the fifth years – was, "How do you think you did?"

Harry's reply was unique among the students: "I did fine." No hesitation or anguish – he was a combination of confident and indifferent that post-exam students _never_ displayed. Luna asked about it, and he elaborated, "I did as well as I could, and I don't care about the outcome. It is unlikely that I will ever be doing anything that will require OWL certification, so the outcome is … something that I don't care about."

The two students that actually wanted to confront Harry finally caught up with him after the History of Magic exam. As he left the Great Hall, Ron and Ginny Weasley stepped in front of him.

Harry simply stopped walking, and looked at them with a flat expression.

Ron, who never hesitated even when he really should, said, "It's over now, Harry. You can give up all this," Ron waved his hand dismissively, "other stuff. You can come back to the dorms, we can play quidditch, and everything can go back to the way it was."

"Ron, you are a self-centered idiot." Harry's voice wasn't flat – instead he revealed that he was weary. "For me this is not 'over', and it never will be. I have authority over all magic, all Wizards and Witches, and I can never give it up. That's part of the deal." Harry's gaze lifted from the floor and pinned Ron like a bug on a pin. "In order to get through my confrontation with the Dark Lord alive, I made a _lifetime_ commitment to follow God in all things. In the process, I have to be honest."

Ron didn't know how to respond to that. After a decent interval to let it sink in, Harry went on. "You never acted as my friend. I tolerated you because I didn't want to deal with your emotional tantrum when you had my reflected fame taken away. I can't continue under false pretenses, so it was a good thing for me that I didn't have you hanging around me when I made this choice. But you need to understand that the 'friendship' that we had was mostly a lie, and that it will never be coming back."

Ron turned red – building up to an outburst, naturally – and Harry pointed his finger at Ron and said, " _Leave me_." The youngest male Weasley spun on his heel and marched away. Hopefully not to return.

Harry shifted his attention to Ginny.

She shifted her balance, fidgeting with her feet, and twisted a strand of her hair in her hand. "Um, Harry, you can still get married, right? I still love you, and I would be the best girlfriend that you ever had …" Ginny trailed off at Harry's unmoving expression.

"You haven't understood, Miss Weasley. I am under orders from On High. Any relationship that I may make will involve my wife living under the same restrictions that I do. There will be no parties, no fawning admirers, no publicity. No photos on the front page of the _Daily Prophet_. I suspect that the Wizarding world will do their best to forget that I exist within a month. And I am not the person you think you are in love with. For me to marry you would be one of the worst decisions that you could make, and one of the worst that I could make."

Harry smiled in a humorless way at his number-one fan girl. "And besides all that, I'm just _fifteen_. For me to try for a permanent relationship would be abysmally stupid. You're fourteen – it is way too early for you to be making these commitments as well."

Ginny's face fell with every word that Harry had spoken, and he finished with, "This is final, Miss Weasley. Fulfill your dreams with someone else."

Ginny's tears began to fall in large amounts as she sobbed, "What should I do now? I've dreamed of being yours ever since I can remember!"

Harry felt a nudge, and he spoke the words he was given. "Listen to your mother carefully. Listen to her guidance, and realize how she has directed you and planted her own dreams in your mind. Cast her manipulations out of your head and find your own dreams." The accent was back, but the commanding tone was absent. _I wish I knew what was going to come out of my mouth, sometimes_.

Harry turned and walked to the Door he had opened, leaving Ginny with her head bowed, hair shielding her wet face. He sincerely hoped that this was the last of the confrontations he had to deal with.

-o-

 **Saturday, June 30, 1996**

There was one more confrontation for Harry to weather. Dobby had helped Harry expand his wardrobe in the last week; several more white 'uniforms' that Harry felt were needed, and the rest of his wardrobe had been replaced with robes (and Muggle wear) that fit properly and was in good condition. Harry chose to wear his "whites" for the trip back, figuring that the exit from the train would be very public, and that he needed to remind people of his responsibilities.

On the train ride back to London, Harry was in a compartment with the rest of his House; Hermione was sitting in the seat across from him, with Neville in the other corner next to the door to their compartment. Luna had immediately leaned up next to Harry, put her head on his shoulder, and apparently gone to sleep. Harry's response was simply to roll his eyes and gently muss her hair.

After about an hour on the rails, Hermione looked up from her book and asked, "When do you think that Ron will be in to see us?"

Harry was careful not to dislodge Luna as he shook his head. "I don't think that any of the Weasleys will be visiting today." He related how he had sent both Ron and Ginny off in tears almost two weeks before.

Hermione closed her book, one finger saving her place. "You told her _that_? I'm almost wishing I could see how that turns out."

Harry gave a one shoulder shrug. "I prefer to think that I'm not involved any more. And since Ron knows that we know about his attempt to potion you, I don't see him taking responsibility for his actions – he never has before. He won't be stopping in."

Hermione's expression fell a bit and she muttered, "I still wish I didn't remember any of that."

Harry felt another prompting, and he turned to address his blonde shoulder decoration. "Luna, I have to get up now." She immediately opened her eyes at sat straight up – much to Harry's amusement. _That little faker_. He stood in the narrow walkway between the seats. "Hermione, may I try to help?"

Hermione sat a little straighter to look at Harry's face. "What do you think you can do?" she asked a little bitterly.

"May I?"

Neville sat straight up in his corner and encouraged, "I'd let him."

Hermione looked doubtful, but assented, "Okay."

Harry made an aborted motion with his left hand, but reached out with his right and placed his palm on Hermione's forehead. "In my authority as the earthly voice of God, I bless you with peace and security. You are not held responsible for your actions with Ron Weasley, and _in the Name of God, I order you to release any and all guilt you may have that comes from the result of his evil actions against you_. This I say and my words will be redeemed by my Master, the creator of your soul."

Harry dropped his hand and almost collapsed into his seat. A tangible presence slowly ebbed from the compartment, and Hermione looked at Harry almost shyly. "Th, thank you." She blinked twice. "I feel a lot better."

Harry nodded. Luna reclaimed her pillow, and they quietly read, mused, or dreamed their way back to platform 9¾.

Interruption came around the midpoint of their journey, with Draco Malfoy pushing aside their door. "You losers! As if you could do anything to defeat the Dark Lord!"

"I never did," said Harry calmly. "I didn't lay a hand on him, and cast no magic. But Voldemort no longer exists. How do you think that happened?"

Draco was taken aback at this form of opposition, and he clearly had no theory on why the Dark Lord was gone. "I … I …" Clearly inspiration struck. "I bet he isn't dead. For some reason, The Dark Lord decided to attack from another angle, and you lot are just claiming that he was defeated."

"Actually, Drakie," Harry could see that this familiarity – and using a diminutive – infuriated Malfoy, "we are not claiming that Voldemort was defeated. We are claiming that he was _unmade_. Let me show you how it works." Harry looked steadily at Draco. " _Remember_." As Draco's eyes widened, Harry added, " _And your magic will lie dormant for 49 days. For seven weeks you will have no magic, and you will understand the magnitude of the gift that lies in your hands, stolen though it is_."

Harry negligently waved his hand at Draco, and he went sailing back through their compartment door. The compartment door slid closed as he exited, cutting short the sound of, "Noooooo…"

Harry settled back into his seat with a muttered, "Idiot." Luna hadn't stirred, and Hermione had barely looked up from her book at Draco's interruption. Neville's eyes were closed, but his right hand had flexed and curved as if he were holding a cylinder. _Backup is good. The Sword would make Draco wet himself just by the sight of it._

"Thanks, Nev. I appreciate it." Nobody pretended as if they didn't understand what that was for. They just simply took up their activities, ignoring the disruption.

At the station, Harry waited for everyone else to leave the compartment first. "I only have my uncle waiting for me. I'm in no hurry," he explained. Hermione gave Harry a hug that probably halved his diameter, and told him to stay in touch over the summer. Neville also told Harry to keep in touch. Luna, by contrast, simply told Harry in an unconcerned tone that she'd see him soon. He blinked, and she was gone before he could really start to speculate on what she meant.

Finally, Harry heft his trunk and made his way to the platform. The Weasleys were still there, a knot of energy, volume, and red that took up far more space than their numbers would suggest. They didn't make it obvious, but they ignored Harry – for which he was mildly grateful. Harry was bracing himself for the spite of his uncle, but he was intercepted before he could make his way out of the magical section, by someone tall, exuberant, and … nope, just those two. Exuberant and tall.

"Prongslet!" Sirius bounded up to Harry, unconcerned with Harry's tardiness off the train. "Let's get you gathered up!"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Really? You aren't on the lookout for Aurors or anything?"

"Really, pup, didn't you realize that you have to keep up with the news? I've been declared a free man for a few weeks now. And last week," Sirius leaned forward and dropped his volume, "your dear Aunt and Uncle succumbed to my charms and signed all Muggle responsibilities over to me." Sirius waggled his eyebrows. "Care to change your living arrangements?"

Harry shrugged. "One of the first things they teach you in Muggle school is that you should never accept the offer of a dirty old man. I'm not sure that's a good idea."

Sirius straightened up as if slapped. "Old? OLD? I'll have you know that I'm younger than your uncle, and twice as fit. Probably nine times as dirty, though," he added in a conversational tone.

"No kidding," Harry agreed. "And since one of the other things they teach in Muggle school is that magic doesn't exist, I'm thinking that they don't know what they're talking about. Shall we?"

"Right this way, pup. I've got a few appointments to keep this next week, and you'll have to come along for at least one of them. We're going off to talk to a publisher, chap by the name of Xeno Lovegood. Barmy as a bedbug, but he'll help us take control of your media image …"


	28. Mea Culpa

Chapter 28: Mea Culpa

This story represents a massive failure on the part of the author. I spent over two years on this, off and on, and this is the best I could do.

But if I could have done what I wanted you would have read a story where it was more obvious that Harry's life became bound by the rules of God – his commitment that gave him authority also bound him to far stricter rules of behavior than anyone else had to follow.

Originally, Harry was to fail to follow the rules he was given, and suffered the consequences until he repented of his failures and followed his original commitment. I found that I didn't have the talent (or skill) to write that. Instead, you got a story of the triumph of authority over power. Harry is parlaying God's authority that he can borrow into a power of its own.

There are also some issues that readers have not understood, and I have to take responsibility for that. Sorry folks: the goblin interaction seems to be badly explained.

The idea I was trying to get across was that the spell itself was given to the goblins so they could develop countermeasures. However, they didn't have a _license to actually use the Door_. That's the price that Hermione is negotiating, and why they would want that to be as low as possible. The price needs to be low enough that they could pay it - but high enough that they don't want to use it to, say, preemptively attack the Ministry and wipe out the Aurors in their beds.

I conceived of this like MAD; if the goblins use the Door spell, then they have to pay this enormous penalty. If they don't, then the contract is broken, and Harry & Co. are practically obligated to rob as many vaults as they can. If the robberies happen before any breach of trust by the goblins, then the Goblins can use the spell with no penalties.

And all this was supposed to be implied by the story, but I can see that it wasn't.

Another question was about the "Eugenics War" that Harry started. Ostensibly it was Harry attempting to prevent such a War that was his excuse to bringing up the possibility with the Slytherins. It was a flimsy excuse, and Harry thought better of it in time. The castration as well as the "stolen magic" ideas were smoke screens - ways to divert Dumbledore's attention until Harry was ready to cancel his influence. Magic *is* primarily stolen, and Harry used that fact to destroy the foundation of the Wizarding society - the formation of magical families that collect and conserve resources for the next generation. Without that, magical individuals will all be on the same playing field, and the prejudice should be isolated instead of systemic.

Magic is a gift that is given - sometimes on purpose, sometimes by random chance - to individuals. Since that gift is distributed across all populations, the only way for the majority of magicals to be in Wizarding families is for them to transfer that gift from someone else - most likely a Muggleborn. And the majority of "purebloods" are not born with the gift of magic. There may be some who are, and then they get an additional gift through the Naming Ceremony (lame name, but I couldn't come up with anything better); Harry and Albus and Tom probably have a double gift. So Draco was born a squib, and only has magic because it was taken from a muggleborn. And Harry? Yes, he had a natural gift as well as a stolen one … and I decided that it came from his cousin Dudley, for irony's sake.

About the ending? I have no idea what Harry will do now. He's a little despondent, thinking about how few witches would be willing to live a life under the restrictions he has to deal with, and it depends on how quietly Dumbledore leaves public life (I'm betting not quietly at all), and Hermione is really the only female he knows that might accept him as he currently is, but he's been at odds with her for most of the year (Even though she's been thinking about romance with him since before Christmas) ... life *is* open ended, and Harry explicitly says that God's plan is to do whatever you want. What does Harry want?

I just don't know. It took me two years to break writing block after writing block so I could finish this, so I doubt that I'll ever revisit this world. I'm more relieved to have this finished and done than anything else.

If there are any other sections that I get questioned over, I'll add the clarification here.

And for fun:

OMAKE

The angels gathered around Harry as he stopped in front of the Death Eaters. He announced to them, "One of the most enduring pieces of knowledge we have about angels is of their songs. So … what do you think that angels will sing to you?" Harry's announcement was vaguely threatening, and the Death Eaters knew it.

Around him, the gathered angels began to hum. Pulsing. Driving. Insistent. Harry could feel … something … gathering. The bass and baritone voices brought up rhythm that made Harry twitch slightly to follow it.

And off to his left, a tenor voice sang out, "Dashing and daring, courageous and caring …" before the owner received a right hook across his jaw.

"Damn it," said the shortest angel that had accompanied Harry. "Disney channel." The voice was full of loathing. "I keep telling him," the angel's voice lowered, "he doesn't get to be that kind of angel."

-o-

*SIGH* From my PMs, this was interpreted partly as a plea for ego boosts. Not so - I'm pointing out that I'm very much an amateur, and that I can't provide the story that I wanted, so you got this instead ... and that it's not explained all that well at the edges. Please don't try to give me a virtual hug or anything - just cut me some slack on the quality, eh?


End file.
